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GREEN  GINGER 

BY 
ARTHUR    MORRISON 

Author  of  "Tales  of  Mean  Streets,"  "A  Child  of  the 
Jago,"  "To  London  Town,'"  "The  Hole  in 
the  Wall,"  "Divers  Vanities,"  etc. 


So  hey  with  a  whim-wham  from  the  lande  of  green  ginger 

A  Peck  of  Madnesse 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


copyright,  1909,  by 
Fbederick  a.  Stokes  Company 

AH  rights  reserved 


copyright,  1906-7-8,  by 
Arthur  Morrison 


September,  1909 


70 

GUY 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A  Skinful  of  Trouble i 

The  Absent  Three 26 

The  Stolen  Blenkinsup 41 

Cap'n  Jollyfax's  Gun 65 

Snorkey  Timms,  his  Marks 78 

The  Cooper  Charm 9^ 

Dobb's  Parrot 114 

The  Seller  of  Hate 133 

The  Rod  Street  Revolution 156 

The  Chamber  of  Light i77 

Mr.  Bostock's  Blacksliding 192 

The  House  of  Haddock 218 

A  LuciGo  Match 233 

Arts  and  Crafts 254 

Wick's  Waterloo 272 

The  Drinkwater  Romance 289 


GREEN   GINGER 


A  SKINFUL  OF  TROUBLE 

OF  all  the  afflictions  brought  on  a  suffering 
civilization  by  the  Limited  Liability  Acts 
as  they  stand  in  the  statutes  of  this  com- 
mercial country,  few  can  exceed  the  troubles, 
pains,  and  harassments  of  Mr.  Nathaniel  Dow- 
dall,  consequent  on  his  investment  of  an  odd 
hundred  pounds  in  Filer's  Royal  and  Imperial 
Circus,  Limited.  It  was  no  matter  of  a  public 
issue  of  shares  at  the  hands  of  a  professional 
promoter,  no  case  of  a  glowing  prospectus  with 
a  titled  directorate.  Filer,  of  Filer's  Royal  and 
Imperial  Circus,  indeed,  made  fresh  issues  of 
shares  whenever  he  found  the  opportunity,  and 
wherever  he  fell  across  the  confiding  investor. 
He  was  managing  director,  and,  it  Is  to  be  pre- 
sumed, the  rest  of  the  board  also.  He  was  Filer, 
and  there  was  the  long  and  short,  the  thick  and 
thin,  the  beginning  and  end  of  it.  From  time  to 
time  the  capital  of  Filer,  Limited,  was  increased 
by  just  as  much  as  some  hopeful  stranger  might 
be  persuaded  to  entrust  to  Filer,  managing  direc- 
tor, in  exchange  for  an  elegantly  printed  certi- 
ficate constituting  him  a  partner  (limited)  in  the 

I 


GREEN    GINGER 


joys  and  sorrows  of  Filer.  Then  Filer's  Royal 
and  Imperial  Circus  passed  on,  and,  if  the  new 
shareholder  remained  quiescent,  there  was  no- 
body in  the  world  so  ready  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones  as  the  magnanimous  Filer, 

Mr.  Nathaniel  Dowdall  did  not  remain  quies- 
cent. He  followed  Filer  with  letters,  monthly, 
fortnightly,  and  then  weekly.  Some  came  back 
through  the  Dead  Letter  Office,  a  few  vanished 
wholly  into  the  unknown,  but  some  caught  Filer 
at  towns  where  the  circus  pitched,  and  others 
overtook  him,  redirected;  and  that  in  sufficient 
numbers  to  grow,  after  a  year  or  so,  something 
of  a  nuisance  to  the  otherwise  unruffled  Filer. 
So  much  so,  that  he  went  as  far  as  to  answer  one 
or  two  of  the  later  and  more  violent,  in  a  tone 
of  flowery  affability.  And  then  Mr.  Dowdall 
wrote  thus : 

Without  Prejudice. 

613  Bramblebury  Road, 
Streatham  Hill,  S.  W., 

May  i^th. 
Sir, — I  will  have  no  more  of  your  evasions 
and  promises.  You  have  obtained  my  money  by 
fraudulent  misrepresentation,  and  I  demand  its 
instant  return.  Unless  I  receive  by  Thursday 
next  your  cheque  for  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
pounds,  I  shall  place  the  whole  affair  in  the 
hands  of  my  solicitors  to  deal  with  as  they  con- 


GREEN    GINGER 


sider  best,  with  a  view  not  only  to  the  recovery 
of  the  money,  but  to  the  proper  punishment  of  a 
disgraceful  fraud.    This  letter  is  final. 
Your  obedient  servant, 

Nathaniel  Dowdall   i 

It  would  be  difficult,  thought  Mr.  Dowdall 
(and  Mrs.  Dowdall  agreed  with  him) ,  to  devise 
a  more  peremptory  missive  than  this;  though 
indeed,  since  each  of  the  last  two  letters  had 
ended  with  the  declaration  that  it  was  final,  the 
concluding  clause  might  be  considered  by  now  to 
have  lost  some  of  its  force.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  "Without  Prejudice"  was  quite  new,  and 
very  terrible  to  behold.  Filer's  answer,  how- 
ever, came  in  this  form : 

Filer's  Royal  and  Imperial  Circus, 
Limited, 

May  i6th. 
My  dear  Mr.  Nathaniel  Dowdall, — My 
natural  delight  at  hearing  once  again  from  so 
highly  esteemed  a  friend  and  partner  as  yourself 
was  somewhat  chastened  by  a  suspicion  that  the 
tone  of  your  letter  was  one  of  irritation.  I  need 
hardly  assure  you  that  It  would  afford  me  the 
highest  and  purest  pleasure  to  comply  with  your 
thoughtful  suggestion  that  I  should  send  you 
my  cheque  for  one  hundred  pounds,  but  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  the  presentation  of  that 


GREEN    GINGER 


cheque  at  the  bank  would  result  in  a  pang  of 
disappointment  which  far  be  it  from  me  to  inflict 
upon  you.  The  stream  of  wealth,  in  fact,  which 
is  destined  inevitably  to  overtake  our  enterprise 
in  time,  and  which  I  shall  welcome  chiefly  be- 
cause it  will  enable  me  to  direct  a  large  volume 
of  it  toward  you,  is  meeting  with  a  temporary 
obstruction.  In  the  meantime  permit  me  to 
thank  you  for  the  kind  thought  which  prompted 
your  charmingly  original  heading,  and  to  rejoice 
to  learn  that  you  are  still  without  prejudice 
against 

Your  devoted,   though 

temporarily  embarrassed  partner, 
Plantagenet  Filer 

Mr.  Dowdall  perused  this  letter  with  eyes  that 
emerged  steadily  till  they  threatened  to  overhang 
his  most  prominent  waistcoat-button.  Speech- 
less he  passed  it  across  the  breakfast-table  to 
Mrs.  Dowdall,  who,  having  read  it  in  her  turn, 
barely  mustered  the  words,  "Well,  I  never  did!" 

This  was  Mr.  Dowdall's  rejoinder,  written 
after  an  hour's  interval  of  simmering  wrath : 

iStreatham  Hill,  S.  W., 

May  lyth. 

Mr.  Filer, — I  am  not  to  be  turned  aside  by 

impudent  flippancy.      I  may  remind  you  that, 

even  though  you  may  have  made  away  with  my 

4. 


GREEN    GINGER 


money,  you  have  goods  which  may  be  seized  in 
satisfaction  of  my  claim,  and  unless  I  receive  the 
sum  of  which  you  have  defrauded  me  before  the 
end  of  the  week  I  shall  take  steps  to  secure  it  by 
the  means  provided  by  law.  This  letter  is  final. 
Nathaniel  Dowdall 

As  Mr.  Dowdall  anticipated,  this  produced  a 
change  in  Filer's  attitude.  His  answer,  still 
amiable  in  tone,  indicated  surrender : 

Filer's  Royal  and  Imperial  Circus, 
Limited, 

May  iSth. 
My  dear  Mr.  Dowdall, — It  grieves  me  to 
perceive,  from  your  last  letter,  that  my  fear  of  a 
certain  irritation  on  your  part  of  late  was  well- 
founded,  and  I  hasten  to  remove  all  occasion  for 
an  asperity  which  I  feel  sure  you  have  already 
regretted.  My  sorrow  is  chiefly  that  you  should 
cut  yourself  off  from  participation  in  the  noble 
revenues  which  are  shortly  to  accrue  to  this 
enterprise;  but,  rather  than  my  honor  should  be 
in  any  way  called  in  question,  I  will  even  en- 
counter the  bitterness  of  this  disappointment. 
It  would  increase  my  distress,  if,  in  addition  to 
your  sacrifice  of  the  golden  opportunity,  you 
were  to  incur  legal  expense;  and  therefore  I  am 
now  freely  handing  over  to  you  a  valuable  part 
of  the  property  of  this  company,   more  than 

5 


GREEN    GINGER 


equivalent  to  the  sum  you  have  invested.  It 
should  arrive  In  the  course  of  a  day  or  so,  by  rail, 
In  a  large  case,  carriage  forward.  I  am  now 
leaving  England,  with  the  enterprise,  for  an  ex- 
tended Continental  tour,  and  take  the  opportu- 
nity of  tendering  you  my  heartiest  farewells,  and 
expressing  my  pleasure  that  our  business  con- 
nection terminates  In  friendly  concord. 

Your  late  partner,  but  eternal  well-wisher, 
Plantagenet  Filer 

P.S. — The  case  should  be  handled  with  care. 
It  Is  not  a  new  one,  and  In  some  places  It  is  not 
altogether  what  one  might  wish. — P.  F. 

This  was  far  more  satisfactory,  and  Mr. 
Dowdall  beamed  as  he  passed  the  letter  to  his 
wife,  who  beamed  again  as  she  handed  It  back. 
Plainly  he  had  gone  the  right  way  to  work  to 
bring  such  a  fellow  as  Filer  to  his  senses.  Clearly 
Filer  had  realized  at  last  that  Nathaniel  Dow- 
dall was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and  had  offered 
the  best  composition  in  his  power  without  wait- 
ing for  a  legal  seizure.  Perhaps,  also,  there  was 
a  little  in  Mrs.  Dowdall's  suggestion  that  some 
traces  of  honesty  lingered  in  Filer's  system  yet; 
for,  in  truth,  he  might  have  left  the  country 
without  notice,  and  so  have  removed  his  goods 
beyond  the  reach  of  bailiffs. 

There  were  possible  awkwardnesses  to  be  con- 

6 


GREEN    GINGER 


sidered,  of  course.  Showmen's  accessories  were 
of  little  use  to  Mr.  Dowdall,  and  might  prove 
difficult  to  dispose  of.  But  that  was  a  matter 
best  left  till  the  goods  came  to  hand.  For  the 
rest  of  that  day  and  for  some  part  of  the  next 
Mr.  Dowdall  was  patient  and  hopeful.  And 
then  the  case  arrived. 

Mr,  Dowdall  was  sitting  in  the  Inconvenient 
little  back  room  which  the  household  was  taught 
to  call  his  study,  and  Mrs.  Dowdall  was  consult- 
ing him  on  the  eternal  domestic  question,  beef  or 
mutton;  when  the  blank  and  bewildered  face  of 
Selina  the  housemaid  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
the  hand  of  Selina  extended  towards  Mr.  Dow- 
dall a  large  biscuit-colored  delivery  sheet. 

"It's  the  railway  van,  sir,"  announced  Selina; 
"and  they've  brought  a  tiger." 

"A  tiger!"  gasped  Mr.  Dowdall,  quite  for- 
getting to  shut  his  mouth  after  the  utterance. 

And  "A  tiger!"  echoed  Mrs.  Dowdall, 
faintly,  opening  her  mouth  wider  still. 

"Yes,  m'm,"  replied  the  housemaid.  "It's 
in  a  big  wooden  cage,  a-nowlin'  an'  stampin'  an' 
goin'  on  dreadful.  And  there's  six  pound  four 
and  eightpence  to  pay." 

In  the  blank  pause  that  followed,  vague 
rumblings,  shouts,  and  yelps  from  the  direction 
of  the  street  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Dowdall, 
like  the  ancestral  voices  that  prophesied  war  to 
Kubla  Khan.     He  rose,  murmuring  helplessly; 


GREEN   GINGER 


his  murmurs  increased  as  he  reached  the  study 
door,  and  the  burden  of  their  plaint  was,  "Six 
pound  four  and  eightpence !" 

Then  he  turned  suddenly  on  Selina.  "I  won't 
have  it!"  he  exclaimed.     "Send  it  away." 

And  Mrs.  Dowdall,  awakened  to  a  sudden 
sense  of  danger,  caught  his  arm,  pushed  Selina 
into  the  passage,  and  shut  the  door  after  her  in 
one  complicated  spasm  of  presence  of  mind. 

The  noises  from  the  street  grew  in  volume, 
and  it  was  clear  that  a  public  attraction  had 
been  scented,  and  the  inevitable  torrent  of  shout- 
ing boys  had  set  in.  Presently  Selina  returned 
with  the  report  that,  whether  Mr.  Dowdall  paid 
the  railway  charges  or  waited  to  be  sued  for 
them,  the  tiger  addressed  to  him  would  be  de- 
livered there  and  then.  The  men,  it  seemed,  had 
given  her  to  understand  that  the  tiger's  society 
was  no  longer  desired,  either  by  themselves  or  by 
any  other  person  connected  with  the  railway. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dowdall,  re- 
covering something  of  his  natural  sense  of  civic 
propriety.  "People  can't  be  expected  to  take  in 
any  tigers  anybody  likes  to  address  to  them !  It 
would  undermine  the  whole  fabric  of  society. 
I — I  won't  be  bullied.    Is  the  front  door  shut?" 

The  front  door  was  shut,  and  with  so  much 
of  assured  security  Mr,  Dowdall  betook  himself 
to  the  drawing-room,  the  window  whereof  com- 
manded the  nearest  view  of  the  street  and  the 

8 


GREEN    GINGER 


area  railings.  Boys  were  competing  for  seats  on 
those  same  railings,  and  the  standing-room  in 
the  street  was  growing  rapidly  less.  From  the 
tail  of  a  large  van  stout  planks  sloped,  and  down 
these  planks  slid  a  huge  wooden,  iron-bound  case, 
lowered  by  many  ropes  in  the  hands  of  several 
excited  men.  From  within  the  case  came  angry 
growls,  and  as  it  reached  the  pavement,  Mr. 
Dowdall  observed  that  its  front  was  a  sort  of 
door  of  stout  iron-clamped  planks,  with  narrow 
intervals  between  them,  through  which  intervals 
came  glimpses  of  restless  fiery  yellow  fur. 

The  case  came  to  rest  before  the  railings,  and 
the  carman,  perceiving  Mr.  Dowdall  at  the 
window,  waved  the  biscuit-colored  delivery 
sheet  and  hailed  him.  Mr.  Dowdall  raised  the 
sash  and  parleyed. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  pay  this  'ere  money  now, 
sir?"  demanded  the  carman. 

"Certainly  not,"  retorted  Mr.  Dowdall.  "I 
don't  want  a  tiger — I  didn't  order  one — the 
whole  thing's  a — a  clerical  error.  Mark  it 
'Dead  Parcels  OflSce'  and  take  it  back!" 

"Dead  parcels!"  repeated  the  carman,  with 
withering  scorn.  "It  about  the  livest  parcel  / 
ever  see,  an'  it's  pretty  near  marked  some  of 
us  gettin'  it  'ere.  Dead  parcels !  It's  my  orders 
to  leave  it  'ere,  pay  or  not,  sign  or  not;  an'  the 
comp'ny'U  see  you  about  the  charges  arterwards. 
Dead  parcels!    'Ere,  git  up!" 

9. 


GREEN    GINGER 


And  with  that  the  carman  sought  his 
perch,  and  the  van  clattered  away  with  its 
retinue  of  ropes,  planks,  and  wholly  untipped 
porters. 

The  crowd  was  bigger  and  noisier  every  min- 
ute, and  the  bolder  among  the  boys  were  already 
tentatively  pushing  sticks  between  the  planks, 
to  the  manifest  disapproval  of  the  tiger;  and  as 
he  watched,  Mr.  Dowdall  recalled  the  warning 
that  the  case  was  "not  altogether  what  one  might 
wish."  He  broke  into  a  sweat  of  apprehension, 
wildly  wondering  what  would  be  the  legal  charge 
for  an  ordinary  street  boy  devoured  by  a  tiger. 
And  as  he  wondered  there  appeared,  towering 
above  the  heads  by  the  street  corner,  a  police- 
man's helmet. 

The  policeman  elbowed  steadily  through  the 
crowd,  sternly  ordering  it  to  "pass  along  there," 
without  any  particular  result.  He  walked 
cautiously  round  the  case  and  observed  the 
direction  on  the  label.  Then  he  ascended 
Mr.  Dowdall's  front  steps  and  was  about  to 
ring  the  bell;  when  Mr.  Dowdall,  with  diplo- 
matic resource,  addressed  him  first  from  the 
window. 

"Good  morning,  constable,"  he  said.  "There's 
a  tiger  down  there  I  want  cleared  away  from  my 
doorstep." 

This  would  not  seem  to  have  been  a  request 
for   which   the   policeman   was   prepared.      He 

lO 


GREEN   GINGER 


paused,  looked  back  at  the  case,  and  then  again 
at  Mr.  Dowdall. 

"It's  your  tiger,  sir,"  he  said  at  length, 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Dowdall,  airily;  "not 
at  all.  Somebody  seems  to  have  dropped  it — 
out  of  a  cart,  I  fancy."  He  inwardly  con- 
gratulated himself  on  the  conscientious  accuracy 
of  this  conjecture.  "Yes,"  he  added,  "I  am 
pretty  sure  it  was  dropped  out  of  a  cart." 

"It's  got  your  name  and  address  on  it,  any- 
how," retorted  the  policeman. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes;  that's  merely  a — a  coincidence. 
A  tiger  might  have  anybody's  name  on  it,  you 
know;  not  at  all  uncommon.  Done  to  throw 
you  off  the  scent.  I  should  think  there'd  be 
quite  a  handsome  reward  for  finding  a  thing 
like  that,  if  you  took  it  to  the  station." 

The  policeman,  sternly  contemptuous,  dis- 
regarded the  suggestion.  "That  tiger's  causin' 
an  obstruction,"  he  said  severely. 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Dowdall.  "Shocking  I 
I  give  it  in  charge." 

The  constable,  with  rising  wrath,  surveyed  the 
crowd  that  now  filled  the  street,  and  turned  once 
more  to  Mr.  Dowdall.  "That  tiger's  your 
property,"  he  said,  "and  if  you  don't  take  it 
indoors  it'll  be  my  dooty  to  summons  you." 
And  with  that  he  produced  a  notebook  and 
wrote  laboriously. 

And  now  as  he  wrote,  a  sergeant  arrived,  who 

II 


GREEN    GINGER 


positively  ordered  Mr.  Dowdall  to  take  his  tiger 
indoors  instantly.  Mr.  Dowdall  desperately  con- 
templated the  prospect  of  standing  a  siege  of 
public,  police,  and  tiger  combined;  when  there 
arrived  on  the  heels  of  the  others  an  inspector,  a 
far  better  diplomatist  than  either  of  his  inferior 
officers.  He  first  carefully  examined  the  case 
and  its  inscriptions,  and  then  politely  inquired 
if  Mr.  Dowdall  were  in  any  way  connected  with 
Filer's  Circus.  Mr.  Dowdall  was  cornered.  To 
deny  Filer's  Circus  to  a  responsible  police-officer 
meant  to  renounce  the  hope  of  redress  from 
Filer.  Mr.  Dowdall  first  hesitated  and  then 
admitted  his  partnership;  and  straightway  was 
deprived  of  all  defence. 

"Ah,  just  so,"  said  the  diplomatic  Inspector. 
"I  see  you've  a  nice  wide  stable  entrance  In  the 
side  road — we'll  see  about  getting  him  in  there. 
Three  or  four  men  with  rollers  and  crowbars  can 
do  It  In  no  time.  I  should  think  you  could  get 
the  men  and  the  tackle  too  from  Brady's  In  five 
minutes;  I'll  send  a  man  to  see  about  It  for 
you." 

Now,  perhaps  partly  because  of  the  soothing 
manner  of  the  inspector,  Mr.  Dowdall  was 
beginning  to  feel  a  little  less  alarmed  at  the  state 
of  affairs.  The  tiger  had  not  killed  anybody  yet, 
and  seemed  to  have  grown  a  good  deal  quieter 
now  that  his  not  very  roomy  habitation  had  come 
to  rest;  and  that  same  habitation  had  as  yet 

12 


GREEN    GINGER 


shown  no  signs  of  giving  way  anywhere.  The 
front  planks  were  so  strong,  the  padlock  was  so 
very  large,  and  the  air-spaces  were  so  very  nar- 
row that  the  creature  could  scarcely  see,  let  alone 
get  out.  And  indeed  a  tiger  was  no  doubt  rather 
a  valuable  possession,  if  you  could  find  a  buyer. 
There  would  be  no  great  risk  in  allowing  the 
case  and  its  prisoner  to  stand  in  the  back  garden, 
with  all  doors  locked,  for  a  little  while — an  hour 
or  so— till  he  could  get  an  offer  for  It.  For  by 
now  Mr.  Dowdall's  natural  business  instincts 
were  beginning  to  assert  themselves,  and  he  had 
formed  a  plan. 

He  calmed  the  natural  agitation  of  Mrs. 
Dowdall,  and  dispatched  an  urgent  telegram  to 
Padgebury,  the  eminent  wild  beast  dealer  of 
Shadwell,  thus: 

To  Padgebury,  or  anybody  in  charge^  Shad- 
well. — Come  Instantly.  Magnificent  business 
opening.  Unusual  opportunity. — Dowdall, 
613,  Bramblebury  Road,  S.W. 

This  done,  Mr.  Dowdall  resigned  himself, 
with  comparative  equanimity,  to  observing  the 
exertions  of  a  dozen  dishevelled  men,  who,  with 
strong  arms  and  much  stronger  language,  shoved 
and  hauled  and  scuffled  the  Iron-bound  case  along 
the  pavement  and  round  the  corner,  and  so 
through  the  gates  at  the  side,  amid  the  enthu-i 

13 


GREEN    GINGER 


siasm  of  the  populace,  and  to  the  newly  aroused 
growls  and  flops  of  the  tiger.  Somebody  sug- 
gested a  joint  of  beef  to  keep  the  beast  quiet,  and 
all  the  men  suggested  beer  for  other  purposes, 
when  at  last  the  case  rested  in  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  stable-yard.  The  joint  of  beef  was  found 
to  be  too  large  to  pass  between  the  planks,  when 
presented  at  the  end  of  a  pole,  and  so  had  to  be 
hacked  into  small  pieces;  but  the  only  distinct 
complaint  about  the  beer  was  that  it  was  not 
large  enough.  On  the  whole,  considering  these 
things  and  the  railway  company's  claims,  Mr. 
Dowdall  found  himself  making  a  considerable 
further  investment  in  Filer. 

Also  he  discovered  that  he  had  the  honor  of 
receiving  the  famous  Wrestling  Tiger,  as  an- 
nounced by  a  bill  which  the  thoughtful  Filer  had 
pasted  on  one  side  of  the  case;  whereon  it  was 
made  known  that  at  Filer's  Royal  and  Imperial 
Circus  the  gifted  quadruped  would  wrestle  a  fall 
every  night  in  its  cage,  with  its  trainer,  or  with 
any  gentleman  in  the  house  who  would  oblige; 
having  already  killed  fifteen  champion  wrestlers 
in  sundry  European  capitals,  with  great  applause 
from  the  discriminating  public.  Mr.  Dowdall 
was  somewhat  gratified  to  find  himself  in  pos- 
session of  so  valuable  an  animal,  and  blamed 
himself  for  his  early  anxiety  to  repudiate  its 
ownership. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  a  man  arrived  from 


GREEN    GINGER 


Padgebury's.  He  was  a  mild,  colorless  person, 
in  shabby  corduroys,  and  he  had  come,  he  ex- 
plained, because  Mr.  Padgebury  and  his  head 
man  were  out  on  business,  and  the  telegram 
seemed  to  be  important. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Dowdall,  impressively,  "it 
was — for  Mr.  Padgebury;  most  important.  The 
fact  is,  when  I  sent  that  telegram  I  had  reluc- 
tantly decided  to  part  with  my  tiger — the  most 
magnificent  and  talented  creature  ever  placed 
upon  the  market.  I'm  not  so  sure  about  it  now, 
but  a  sufficiently  good  offer  might  tempt  me. 
It's  In  the  stable-yard;  go  and  look  at  It  while  I 
wait  here." 

The  man  shook  his  head  feebly.  "Tigers  ain't 
my  department,  sir,"  he  said;  "it's  the  canaries 
what  I  look  after.  If  it  'ad  a-been  a  pipin'  bull- 
finch now " 

"Oh,  but  surely,"  protested  Mr.  Dowdall,  "as 
a  responsible  man  from  Padgebury's — a  leading 
man  on  the  staff,  you  know — you  can  deal  with 
just  a  simple  matter  of  an  ordinary  tiger.  Come 
now;  just  go  and  run  your  eye  over  him." 

But  the  man  shook  his  head  again.  "I  ain't 
no  judge  of  a  tiger,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  know 
'is  p'ints.  Anything  in  the  way  of  a  redpoll  I 
could  take  on  easy.  An'  If  you  ain't  sure  you 
really  want  to  sell  'im,  p'r'aps  you'd  better  think 
it  over  for  a  day  or  two." 

"Oh,  no — not  at  all,"   Mr.   Dowdall  inter- 

15 


GREEN    GINGER 


posed,  hastily.  "I'd  rather  get  the  parting  over 
at  once  and  have  done  with  it.  I'd  like  you  to 
go  and  tell  Mr.  Padgebury  about  it  as  soon  as  he 
gets  back.  It's  a  most  extraordinary  tiger — 
wrestles,  and  does  card  tricks,  and  all  that. 
When  will  Mr.  Padgebury  be  back?" 

The  canary-tamer  was  not  quite  certain,  but  it 
was  pretty  sure  to  be  some  time  in  the  afternoon. 

"Very  well,  get  him  to  come  along  at  once 
with  a  van.  But  there's  one  thing  you  might 
tell  me,"  Mr.  Dowdall  proceeded,  confidentially. 
"You'd  scarcely  believe  it,  but  some  of  my  ser- 
vants are  foolishly  nervous  about  that  tiger. 
Now,  you  are  a  man  of  experience.  Couldn't 
you  give  it  something  to  keep  it  quiet  till  Mr. 
Padgebury  comes?" 

"Beef?"  suggested  the  canary-man,  interroga- 
tively. 

"It's  got  beef,"  Mr.  Dowdall  replied.  "But  I 
don't  mean  food.  Something  to  send  it  to  sleep, 
for  instance?" 

"Whisky,"  replied  the  shabby  man  promptly. 
"They  tame  hedgehogs  with  that." 

"But  how  can  I  give  a  tiger  whisky?" 

The  canary-man  rubbed  his  ear  thoughtfully 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  said:  "Force  'Is  mouth 
open  and  pour  It  down  'Is  throat." 

But  a  very  little  more  conversation  made  it 
clear  that  neither  Mr.  Dowdall  nor  the  man 
from  Padgebury's  was  prepared  to  adopt  this 

i6 


GREEN    GINGER 


method  personally;  and  after  a  little  more  nego- 
tiation it  was  agreed  that  Padgebury's  retainer 
should  visit  the  stable-yard  with  a  view  to  devis- 
ing a  less  adventurous  means  of  administering 
the  whisky. 

Presently  he  returned  and  reported  his  plan. 
"There's  precious  little  room  between  the 
planks,"  he  said.  "In  fact,  you  can't  properly 
see  in  without  shoving  your  eye  rayther  too  close 
to  the  door.  But  there's  a  bit  of  an  iron  trough 
fixed  inside,  with  water,  an'  if  I'd  got  a  good 
large  basinful  o'  whisky,  an'  the  garden  squirt, 
I  think  I  could  get  some  of  it  into  the  trough." 

A  quart  of  whisky  was  produced  accordingly, 
and  the  garden  squirt;  and  in  five  minutes  more 
the  canary-man  returned  to  report  complete  suc- 
cess, and  to  receive  a  fee  of  half  a  crown.  Fur- 
thermore, he  received  fervid  injunctions  to  send 
the  whole  Padgebury  tiger-staff  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment ;  and  so  departed. 

Perfect  silence  fell  upon  the  stable-yard.  Not 
a  growl  could  be  heard  by  a  listener  from  any 
window  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  the  boot- 
boy,  reconnoitring  the  stable-yard,  reported  that 
the  tiger  was  motionless  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cage — probably  asleep.  The  household  excite- 
ment was  relieved,  and  household  affairs  began 
to  resume  their  course. 

Half  an  hour — an  hour — an  hour  and  a  half 
— two  hours  passed  in  peace  and  quiet;  and  then, 

17 


GREEN    GINGER 


with  a  sudden  burst  of  frantic  shrieks,  the  cook, 
the  boot-boy,  and  Selina  came  up  the  kitchen 
stairs  in  a  rush.  The  tiger!  The  tiger!  The 
tiger  was  climbing  through  the  scullery  window ! 

Who  was  first  and  who  was  last  of  the  whole 
household  out  of  the  front  door  will  never  be 
known;  it  is  merely  conjectured  that  Mr.  Dow- 
dall  was  not  the  last,  because  foremost  in  this 
moment  of  peril,  he  was  certainly  first  round  the 
street  corner,  where  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
butt  heavily  into  a  policeman. 

"Good  evening,  constable,"  gasped  Mr.  Dow- 
dall,  maintaining  his  balance  by  hugging  the 
policeman's  arm;  "good  evening!  There's  an 
interesting  pet  of  my  wife's  gone  astray  in  the 
house,  and  I  think  if  you  were  to  keep  guard 
at  the  front  door  while  I  send  for  Padge- 
bury's " 

"Padgebury's?"  repeated  the  policeman, 
suspiciously.  "Padgebury's?  What's  this  'ere 
pet?  Is  it  the  tiger  as  there's  been  such  a  fuss 
about?" 

"Well,"  admitted  Mr.  Dowdall,  glancing 
back  apprehensively,  "as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is 
what  you  might  more  or  less  call  a  tiger,  so  to 
speak,  but  there's  no  need  to  feel  alarmed  on  that 
account.  I  give  you  full  authority  to  use  your 
truncheon." 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  observed  the  man, 
strangely  ungratefully.    Nevertheless,  he  looked 


GREEN    GINGER 


cautiously  round  the  corner,  and  then  began  to 
walk  toward  Mr.  Dowdall's  front  door,  fol- 
lowed by  that  gentleman  at  some  little  distance. 
For  it  chanced  that  this  was  an  ambitious  young 
policeman,  anxious  to  distinguish  himself;  and 
he  hoped  that  there  might  be  a  possibility  of 
doing  it  at  no  vast  risk,  after  all.  Wherefore  it 
was  with  some  irritation  that  he  heard  the  shriek 
of  a  police-whistle  farther  up  the  road,  where 
Mrs.  Dowdall  had  taken  refuge  with  a  friend, 
who  always  kept  the  instrument  handy. 

The  whistle  had  the  effect  of  hurrying  the 
young  policeman,  who  resolved,  if  he  could  not 
be  the  sole  representative  of  the  force  on  the 
spot,  at  any  rate  to  be  the  first.  He  mounted 
the  front  steps,  cautiously  approached  the  open 
door,  and  looked  in.  He  ventured  as  far  as  the 
mat,  and  then  beyond  it,  listening  intently.  And 
•then  he  cleared  the  doorstep  in  one  bound,  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  him  with  great  agility,  but 
turning  instantly  to  peep  through  a  clear  part 
of  the  glass  panel.  For  he  had  been  scared  by 
the  apparition  of  a  great  yellow  head  rising  over 
the  lower  stairs. 

"It's  gone  upstairs!"  he  cried,  presently,  for 
the  information  of  anybody  within  hearing; 
which  was  nobody. 

For  the  whistle  was  attracting  stragglers  to 
the  house  where  its  possessor,  with  distended 
countenance,  was  blowing  it  from  the  first-floor 

19 


GREEN    GINGER 


window,  and  Mr.  Dowdall,  in  the  doorway  of 
a  neighbor  opposite,  was  dispatching  a  stream 
of  telegrams  to  Padgebury,  like  minute-guns. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  arrived  Padge- 
bury's  van,  with  the  great  Padgebury  himself 
and  half  a  dozen  stalwart  retainers,  and  much 
tackle  of  iron  and  rope.  Padgebury  had  started 
out  immediately  on  the  report  of  his  canary- 
tamer,  and  so  had  escaped  the  fire  of  telegrams 
which  Mr.  Dowdall  was  still  maintaining. 

The  wild  beast  dealer  shook  his  head  when 
he  learned  the  state  of  affairs.  "You  didn't 
say  he  was  loose  in  the  house  when  you  offered 
to  sell  him,"  he  observed,  solemnly. 

"Well,  I  was  thinking  of  allowing  a  discount 
in  consideration  of  that,"  replied  Mr.  Dowdall; 
"a  moderate  discount." 

Padgebury  shook  his  head  again.  "In  our 
trade,"  he  said,  "you'll  find  there's  a  deal  of 
difference  between  a  loose  tiger  and  one  in  a  cage. 
Loose  tigers  don't  command  any  price  to  speak 
of.     There's  no  demand  for  'em." 

Nevertheless,  he  consented  to  reconnoitre, 
with  a  view  to  securing  Mr.  Dowdall's  specimen, 
on  the  understanding  that  if  no  deal  resulted  he 
should  charge  for  his  services.  And  so,  slowly, 
with  many  precautions,  the  front  door  was 
opened,  and  Padgebury  and  his  staff,  listening 
anxiously,  approached  the  stairs  a  few  steps  at 
a  time. 

20 


GREEN    GINGER 


After  a  pause  of  careful  peeping  Padgebury, 
greatly  daring,  crept  up  the  stairs  and  listened  on 
the  landing.  Then  he  beckoned  silently  to  his 
men,  who  followed  with  as  little  noise  as  possi- 
ble, and  found  their  principal  pointing  signifi- 
cantly at  a  bedroom  door,  standing  ajar,  from 
beyond  which  came  distinct  sounds  of  heavy 
breathing. 

The  men  gathered  on  the  landing,  awaiting 
orders.  And  then  suddenly  there  arose  from 
within  the  room  the  sound  of  a  loud,  horrible 
yawn,  and  following  that,  in  a  thick  but  cheerful 
voice,  the  chorus : — 

Put  me  among  the  girrls! 
Put  me  among  the  girrls! 
Do  me  a  favor,  do! 
Fll  do  the  same  for  you, 
If  you'll  put 

Padgebury  bounced  into  the  room,  and  the 
chorus  broke  off;  and  his  men,  crowding  behind 
him,  saw  the  tiger  lying  at  length  on  the  bed, 
fur  and  teeth  and  whiskers  complete,  with  a 
decanter  hugged  under  one  paw. 

"Whirroo  !"  cried  the  tiger.  "Get  out !  'Tis 
enough  to  give  a  man  the  palpitations  to  have 
yez  jumpin'  out  av  nowhere  like  that,  an  ugly 
crowd!  An'  me  that  unwell  an'  all!  Get  out 
wid  yez!" 

21 


GREEN    GINGER 


Padgebury  turned  one  glance  of  amazement 
on  his  staff,  and  then,  being  a  prompt  man, 
seized  the  tiger  by  the  jaw,  forced  it  open,  and 
peered  into  the  cavernous  skull.  "Why,  I  believe 
it's  Lanigan  !"  he  said. 

"What,  Misther  Padgebury!"  cried  the  tiger. 
"  'Tis  the  blessin'  av  the  wurrld  to  see  ye, 
Misther  Padgebury.  Oh,  Mr.  Padgebury,  'tis 
moighty  lonely  I  am !  Nobody  loves  me  In  this 
— this — this  here  outrajis  Integument.  They 
trate  me  like  a  leper;  an'  'tis  drouthy  work, 
growlin'  like  a  tiger  two  days  together,  an' 
moighty  poor  conversation,  wid  no  provisions 
but  wan  bag  av  biscuits.  Misther  Padgebury,  is 
all  av  'em  you,  or  is  there  a  dirthy  crowd  av 
ruffins  In  this  room?" 

"There's  enough  of  us  here  to  see  you  safely 
to  the  police-station,  anyhow,"  answered  Padge- 
bury, grimly.     "What's  this  game?" 

"Misther  Padgebury,  dear,  if  ye  shpake  to 
me  like  that  FU  cry  like  a  babby,  an'  me  that 
broken-hearted  too.  Take  a  drop  from  the 
decanther — 'tis  good  stuff  in  this  house.  An' 
where's  that  gallows-hoppin'  thief.  Filer?" 

"Filer?    I  don't  know." 

"Filer's  Circus  started  for  the  Continent  the 
day  afore  yesterday,  so  I  heard,"  observed  one 
of  Padgebury's  men. 

"What?"  wailed  the  tiger.  "The  day  before 
yesterday?     Then  Pm  robbed  to  the  skin  an' 

22 


GREEN    GINGER 


bones  av  me !  Sivin  months  have  I  been  doin' 
the  wrestlin'  tiger  an'  makin'  the  fortune  av  the 
show,  an'  not  two  months'  pay  have  I  got  out 
av  it !  An'  now  he's  given  me  the  shake  afther 
all !  The  curse  o'  the  wurrld  on  the  ugly  head 
av  him !  I'll  tell  ye,  Misther  Padgebury.  The 
wrestling  tiger  was  the  only  thing  that  brought 
the  show  a  pinny,  though  'tis  meself  that  says 
ut.  Night  afther  night  I  towld  Filer  I'd  give 
the  swindle  away  in  the  middle  av  the  show  if 
I  didn't  get  my  money,  an'  night  afther  night 
he  blarneyed  me  into  goin'  through  onct  more. 
Ye  see,  we'd  thumpin'  thick  bars  to  the  cage,  an' 
'twasn't  likely  anybody  not  b'longing  to  the  show 
was  comin'  investigatin'  too  close,  let  alone 
goin'  wrestlin'  with  a  tiger;  so  we  faced  it  out 
aisy  enough  till  I  threatened,  an'  thin  Filer 
blarneyed  me.  But  at  last  I'd  be  blarneyed  no 
more,  an'  I  got  a  rale  paper  summons  for  him; 
an'  thin  says  Filer,  frightened  by  the  paper 
summons;  'I'm  at  the  bottom  av  my  finances, 
Lanigan,  me  boy,  an'  what  I  haven't  got  I  can't 
pay.  But  we'll  raise  some,'  says  he,  'if  ye'U 
tear  up  that  nasty  summons  an'  do  as  I  tell  ye. 
Now,  there's  a  troublesome  ould  parrty  as  calls 
himself  a  shareholder,'  says  he,  'an'  I'll  put  ye 
in  a  close-nailed  case  and  sind  ye  to  him.  An' 
I'll  be  along  there  as  soon  as  you  will  an'  sooner,' 
says  Filer,  'bekase  I'll  go  by  passenger  thrain 
an'  you  by  goods.     An'  whin  the  ould  man's 

23 


GREEN    GINGER 


terrified  Into  fits  with  havin'  a  rampin',  ragin' 
tiger  brought  to  his  peaceful  risidence,  why,  I'll 
get  him  to  pay  a  call  on  his  shares  on  conditions 
av  takin'  you  away  again.  Thin,'  says  Filer,  'I'll 
pay  every  cint  av  your  money  and  a  present  to 
the  top  av  it!'  Misther  Padgebury,  I  did  ut; 
an'  afther  that  niver  again  ask  me  to  be  a  tiger, 
nor  a  package  on  any  goods  thrain !  I'm  bruised 
all  over  me  like  a  toad,  and  the  lovely  feather- 
bed itself  is  hard  to  me  bones." 

"Well,"  remarked  Padgebury,  "you  don't 
seem  to  have  done  much  good  for  yourself  since 
you  left  me,  and  you're  in  a  bigger  scrape  now 
than  ever.  There's  Mr.  Dowdall  and  a  police- 
man at  the  front  door." 

"Misther  Dowdall's  a  jintleman,"  said  the 
tiger.  "He's  the  only  man  that  Iver  gave  me 
whisky  out  av  a  garden  squirrt,  Plensheous 
whisky.  It  was  the  whisky,  an'  nothing  but  ut, 
that  gave  me  the  courage  to  open  the  padlock 
and  come  to  look  for  some  more.  Give  my 
compliments  to  Misther  Dowdall  an'  tell  him 
he's  a  betther  man  than  his  partner,  an'  I'd 
rather  dale  with  him.  The  firrm  owes  me  thirty- 
wan  pound  ten  an'  six." 

And  the  tiger  pulled  Its  mouth  open  with  its 
right  paw,  and  thrust  the  neck  of  the  decanter 
once  again  between  the  cruel  fangs. 


24 


THE  ABSENT  THREE 

THERE  was  never  a  more  popular  man 
in  Essex  than  Dan  Fisk,  whom  I  have 
heard  called  the  biggest  liar  in  the 
county.  But  that  was  said  in  the  old  days  of 
innocence,  when  there  were  no  newly  built  parts, 
where  liars  now  flourish  exceedingly  among  the 
other  improvements. 

If  Dan  were  a  liar  (a  thing  I  expressly  decline 
to  admit),  he  had  the  excuse — the  justification, 
rather — of  the  artist.  Thick  and  round  of  body, 
with  a  face  whereon  a  vast  grin  and  a  dazzling 
squint  perpetually  struggled  for  mastery,  Dan 
was  a  humorist,  first  and  last.  A  solemn  person 
was  Dan  Fisk's  natural  prey,  and  with  subtle 
art  and  unchanging  feature  Dan  would  urge 
his  solemnity  over  the  edge  of  unseemliness  into 
the  abysm  of  the  ridiculous;  and  any  archer  of 
the  long-bow  found  in  Dan  an  ever-ready  abet- 
tor and  puller  of  the  unconscious  leg. 

Dan  is  gathered  to  his  fathers  long  since,  and 
so  long  that  his  tombstone  has  acquired  a  rollick- 
ing inclination  to  the  left,  and  moss  and  weather 
have  so  painted  it  that  the  fat  cherub's  face  that 
overlooks  the  inscription  meets  the  gaze  with 

25 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  permanent  wink;  which  Is  the  properest 
accident  In  the  world,  and  exactly  as  Dan  FIsk 
would  have  had  It. 

He  was  a  sober  man,  yet  at  this  distance  of 
time  I  can  never  call  up  the  memory  of  his  jolly 
face  without  a  background  from  the  parlor  of 
the  Castle  Inn;  either  the  enormous  geraniums 
that  stood  in  the  bow-window  at  the  front,  or 
the  settle  In  the  corner,  or  the  wide  fireplace  and 
its  blazing  embers,  stuck  with  black  extinguisher- 
shaped  beer-warmers.  And  It  was  a  very  good 
background,  too,  being  also  excellently  suitable 
to  Sam  Prentice,  Roboshobery  Dove,  and  Abel 
Pennyfather,  with  his  big  walking-stick  made 
out  of  a  thistle-stem  from  Burton's  farm;  the 
tale  whereof  Abel  Pennyfather  told  nightly  In 
this  place,  beginning  with  a  mighty  bang  of  the 
stick  Itself  on  the  table,  and  a  challenge  to 
everybody  to  guess  what  the  timber  was. 

It  was  a  challenge  that  nobody  accepted,  well 
known  as  the  stick  and  its  story  were.  For  Abel 
Pennyfather  Instantly  began  to  shout  the  tale 
over  again  in  the  voice  of  a  contentious  bull, 
so  that  every  other  sound  was  drowned  till  the 
tale  was  told. 

"Ha !  ha !"  Abel  concluded  on  one  such 
night;  "  'How  d'ye  like  my  walkln'-stick?' 
says  I.  'Fine  bit  o'  timber,  ben't  it?  Much 
obliged  to  ye  for  It,'  I  says.  'Got  it  out  of  a 
wheatfield  o'  yourn,  an'  left  plenty  more  behind. 

26 


GREEN    GINGER 


Why  don't  ye  grow  walkln'-stlcks  for  reg'lar 
crop?'    Lord,  that  mad  he  were!" 

And  with  that  Abel  Pennyfather  took  a  vast 
drink  from  the  fullest  mug  on  the  table,  which 
chanced  to  be  the  mug  of  Banham  the  carrier. 

Banham  stared  at  Pennyfather  and  the  mugs, 
and  began:  "Why,  ben't  that " 

"Better  sarve  him  out  next  time,"  observed 
Dan  Fisk,  squinting  Into  Abel  Pennyfather's 
own  mug,     "This  ain't  wuth  reachin'  for." 

"Why,"  cried  Abel,  with  wide  eyes,  "I  han't 
a-drunk  o'  the  wrong  mug,  hev  I  ?  Well,  well, 
now,  'tis  wonnerful  how  absent  I  be,  a-thinkin' !" 

"Wonnerful  deep  thinkin'  it  be,  too,"  pursued 
Dan  Fisk,  transferring  his  squint  to  the  outraged 
mug,  and  tilting  it  the  better  to  peep.  "Won- 
nerful deep.  Nothin'  could  make  it  deeper  but 
a  bigger  mug." 

"But  'tis  my  way,  neighbors,"  Pennyfather 
went  on  loftily.  "You  might  scarce  believe  as 
I  walked  past  my  own  gate  the  other  day,  think- 
in'  hard  about  a  sick  cow.  Ay,  an'  when  I 
remembered,  an'  turned  back,  danged  if  I  den't 
get  a-thinkin'  agen,  an'  walk  past  the  gate  a 
second  time,  just  as  far  as  fust.  Danged  if  I 
den't!" 

"If  I  couldn't  shorten  my  thoughts,  I'd  widen 
the  gate,"  commented  Dan.  "Ben't  proper  to 
hev  ordinary  furniture  for  such  an  extraordinary 
man." 


27 


GREEN    GINGER 


Sarcasm  was  not  a  thing  that  Abel  Penny- 
father  understood.  "  'TIs  like  not,"  he  replied, 
with  plain  gratification.  "And  anyhow,  I 
count  I  can  claim  there  ben't  so  absent  a 
man  as  me,  one  time  or  another,  no,  not  in  arl 
Essex." 

For  It  was  a  failing  of  Abel  Pennyfather  to 
claim  pre-eminence,  at  the  top  of  a  very  large 
voice,  in  anything  whatsoever  that  might  come 
under  discussion  in  his  presence — anything  in 
the  world,  even  if  It  were  only  bunions. 

"Ah,"  Dan  Fisk  replied  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  an  almost  imperceptible  brightening 
of  the  squint,  "you  be  absent-minded  enough, 
I  make  no  doubt.  I  don't  call  to  memory  many 
with  mind  more  absent  from  their  heads  than 
you,  sarten  to  say," 

"No,  not  one,  I  say,"  Abel  pursued,  with 
growing  pride.    "Never  one  in  arl  Essex." 

"Ah,  but  you  can  be  beat.  There's  the  three 
Brewitts." 

"I  dunno  no  Brewitts,  but  I  uphold  they 
ben't  a  touch  to  me.  Why,  I  tell  'ee,  t'other 
day,  an'  none  so  long  ago  neither,  I  sat  an' 
made  up  my  market  cipherin'  with  my  lighted 
pipe,  a-smokin'  my  pencil  all  the  time.  Ah,  I 
did  that!" 

"  'Twere  a  true  notable  feat,  that,  no  doubt, 
but  it  were  only  once.  Now,  oad  Tom  Brewitt, 
he  never  lit  a  candle  but  what  he  hulled  it 

2SI 


GREEN    GINGER 


out  o'  winder  and  set  up  the  match  to  read 
by." 

"Alius  did  It?" 

"Ay,  alius.  Oad  Sim  Cloyse  paid  a  boy  two 
shillun  a  week  to  sit  outside  of  evenings  an'' 
pick  up  candles.  Rare  eye  to  business  had  oad 
Sim  Cloyse." 

"That  there's  a  yarn.  Not  that  it's  anythin' 
particular.  I've  a-done  many  a  more  highly 
absent-minded  thing  myself,  so  I  don't  count 
it  much.  But  I  never  heard  o'  that  Tom  Brew- 
itt.    Who  were  he?" 

"Tom  Brewitt?  Why,  he  were  Bob  Brewitt's 
brother,  surely." 

"Well,  an'  who  were  Bob?  I  s'pose  you'll 
say  he  were  Tom's  brother?" 

*'No,"  Dan  replied;  "that  wouldn't  be  a 
straightforard  answer.  Bob  were  brother  to 
Sam,  an'  Sam  were  brother  to  both  on  'em.  You 
may  disbelieve  in  Tom  by  hisself,  an'  'tis  arl  a 
possibility  you  might  cast  doubts  on  Bob ;  but 
you  can't  get  away  with  Tom,  Bob,  and  Sam 
together;  'taren't  logic." 

"  'Tis  a  true  word,  an'  a  very  reasonable 
argyment,"  observed  Banham  the  carrier,  with 
a  judicial  shake  of  the  head.  And  the  company 
murmured  agreement. 

Abel  Pennyfather  stared  blankly  for  five 
seconds.  Then  he  said:  "Well,  well,  I'm  not 
sayin'  'taren't.     I  only  said  I  never  beared  tell 

29 


GREEN   GINGER 


on  'em.  An'  I  don't  think  so  overmuch  of  Tom 
Brewitt's  absent-minded  doin's,  nayther." 

"There  again,"  Dan  went  on,  "you  mightn't 
think  much  of  Tom's  absent-mindedness,  an' 
maybe  you  might  doubt  the  quality  of  Bob's; 
but  when  you  come  to  Sam's,  an'  more  especial 
when  you  come  to  Tom's  an'  Bob's  an'  Sam's 
all  together,  then  there  aren't  no  more  argufyin'. 
They  be  too  many  for  any  argufyer." 

"Well,  that  may  be,"  persisted  Abel  Penny- 
father,  "but  I  hoad  a  shillun,  man  for  man, 
they  den't  beat  me.  Now  I  tell  'ee,  when  we 
putt  the  four-acre  field  down  to  grass,  I  were 
a-goin " 

"Did  your  absence  o'  mind  ever  keep  your 
sister  an  oad  maid  all  her  life?"  demanded  Dan. 

"Why,  no,"  Abel  admitted,  "seein'  as  you 
know  she's  been  married  three  times  a'ready. 
But " 

"Then  you're  beat,"  Interrupted  Dan. 
"You're  beat  all  to  crumbles,  as  anybody  can  tell 
you  as  knows  the  story  o'  the  three  Brewitts  an' 
their  sister  Jane.     An'  who  don't  know  that?" 

It  seemed  that  nobody  knew  it,  a  dis- 
covery whereat  Dan  expressed  profound  sur- 
prise. "Why,"  he  said,  "the  three  Brewitts 
kep'  farm  up  there  beyond  Thundersley — I'll 
call  the  very  name  to  mind,  presently,  maybe — ■ 
long  enough  ago.  There  was  Tom,  Bob,  an' 
Sam,  like  as  I've  told  you.    They  was  bachelors 

30 


GREEN    GINGER 


all,  by  reason  of  absence  of  mind.  Tom  forgot 
to  igo  to  church  on  his  weddin'-day,  and  was 
clawed  down  the  face  an'  forsook  for  that  rea- 
son. Bob  was  all  arranged  for,  by  the  other 
party  an'  her  relations,  but  when  they  got  him 
there  he  forgot  to  ask  her  the  question,  so  the 
fam'lies  was  enemies  henceforth,  an'  his  absence 
of  mind  saved  him.  Sam  forgot  about  marryin' 
altogether,  an'  died  at  eighty-fower  without  hav- 
ing remembered  it.  Their  sister  Jane,  she  were 
a  single  woman  at  forty  for  a  different  reason. 
What  prevented  her  weren't  so  much  the  ab- 
sence of  her  mind  as  the  presence  of  her  face. 
'Twere  a  face  o'  vinegar,  an'  no  mistake." 

"Was  it  as  ugly  as  yours,  Dan?"  Prentice 
asked,  with  much  show  of  interest. 

"Wuss  than  that,  a  mile,"  Dan  resumed,  un- 
perturbed. "  'Twere  as  bad  as  any  man's  face 
In  this  here  room,  though  you'd  scarce  believe 
it.  'Twould  ha'  kep'  a  regiment  out  o'  gunshot; 
and  there's  no  guessing  how  her  brothers  lived 
In  the  same  house  with  It,  'cept  they  were  too 
absent-minded  to  notice.  Little  boys  used  to 
go  the  other  way  round  to  school  for  fear  o' 
seeing  Jane  Brewitt,  and  'twere  said  nothing 
could  be  made  o'  the  milk  on  that  farm  'cept 
cheese." 

"Talkin'  o'  cheese,"  Interposed  Abel  Penny- 
father,  "Fve  made  as  much  as " 

"We  won't  talk  o'   cheese,   then!"   shouted 

31 


GREEN    GINGER 


Dan,  and  the  company  supported  him  with 
clamor  sufficient  to  quell  Abel.  "We  won't 
talk  o'  cheese,  but  come  back  to  Jane  Brewitt. 
She  were  a  good  enough  housekeeper,  spite  of 
her  face,  an'  a  good  housekeeper  were  needful 
in  a  place  with  three  sich  moonin'  gapesters 
about.  She  were  a  good  housekeeper,  and,  what 
with  one  thing  an  t'other,  business  were  good  an' 
good  again  at  Brewitts' ;  an'  Bob  Brewitt,  he  had 
a  safe  let  into  his  bedroom  wall,  and  a  good  full 
cashbox  was  snug  inside  the  safe.  Why  that 
should  be  few  could  understand,  with  three  chaps 
as  were  like  as  not  to  go  an'  plough  a  meadow 
'stead  o'  mowin'  it,  or  sow  a  young  wheatfield 
twice  over  with  carrots.  But  so  'twas  how- 
somedever,  an'  'tis  like  Jane  had  her  share  in 
keepin'  things  square. 

"But  ugly  as  she  were,  and  forty  as  she  were, 
Jane  were  still  the  youngest  o'  the  family,  an' 
den't  forget  to  publish  the  fact  abroad  nayther, 
without  goin'  into  the  'zact  arithmetic  o'  the 
years.  An'  she  wore  a  bonnet  that  made  the 
church  look  like  a  penny  show.  An'  so  at  last 
what  nobody  expected  came  to  pass,  an'  a  man 
went  a-courting  to  Brewitts' ;  an'  not  a  blind 
man,  nayther. 

"He  were  so  far  from  blind  that  folk  swore 
he  could  see,  quite  distinct,  through  Brewitts' 
brick  wall  and  iron  safe  into  the  cashbox,  afore 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  go  a-courtin'  to  Jane, 

32 


GREEN    GINGER 


'Tis  sarten  he  were  more  than  half  her  age,  but 
none  so  much  more,  if  you  den't  count  the  time 
he'd  been  in  gaol.  Bates  were  his  name,  an' 
the  poor  friendless  chap  hadn't  a  soul  in  arl 
Essex  to  say  a  good  word  for  him,  consekence 
of  his  havin'  lived  in  the  county  arl  his  life. 
'Twasn't  that  he  ever  took  another  man's  job 
away  from  him,  either,  for  if  there  was  one  thing 
in  the  world  he'd  never  take  it  was  work. 

"The  three  brothers  weren't  so  absent-minded 
as  to  overlook  a  thing  like  this,  an'  they  pitched 
Jim  Bates  out  o'  doors  reg'lar,  whenever  the 
sight  of  him  reminded  'em.  But  Jane,  she  stood 
up  for  him  through  thick  an'  thin,  as  was 
natural.  The  more  the  folks  were  down  on 
Bates  the  better  she  thought  him,  an'  as  for  him, 
the  more  he  saw  of  the  Brewitts'  house,  and  the 
more  he  heard  of  the  cashbox,  the  deeper  in  love 
he  got.  But  Tom  and  Bob,  an'  Sam,  they  got 
so  mighty  objectionable  that  Jim  Bates  had  to 
take  to  meetin'  Jane  by  dark  in  the  lane,  which 
had  two  advantages :  first,  the  brothers  couldn't 
see  him;  an'  second,  he  couldn't  see  Jane. 

"Things  got  desprit.  The  brothers  swore  that 
if  she  were  such  a  fool  as  to  go  to  church  with 
Jim  Bates,  she  should  take  what  belonged  to  her 
an'  no  more;  which,  put  in  round  numbers,  was 
nothin'.  But  she  was  quite  game  for  this,  an' 
she  told  Jim  Bates  as  much,  an'  openly  admitted 
she  was  full  aged  an'  could  do  as  she  liked.    But 

33 


GREEN    GINGER 


Jim  Bates  was  that  thoughtful  he  wouldn't  part 
she  an'  the  cashbox,  an'  at  last  he  persuaded  her 
that  all  three  should  make  a  bolt  together  in  the 
dogcart.  'Tis  like  she  might  have  doubted  about 
bringing  the  cashbox;  but  Jim  Bates  he  told  her 
it  was  good  as  hers,  seein'  she'd  kep'  house  for 
her  brothers  so  long,  an',  rather  than  she  should 
be  done  out  of  her  rights,  he'd  take  care  of  it 
himself. 

"So  they  settled  to  make  a  bolt  of  it  one  night 
after  market-day.  Jim  Bates  chose  that  night 
for  reasons.  'Twas  only  to  be  supposed  that 
both  cashbox  and  brothers  would  be  fullest  after 
market-day;  an'  if  absent-mindedness  be  to  be 
took  advantage  of,  when  was  an  Essex  farmer 
likely  to  hev  more  of  it  than  on  market-night? 
So  'twere  settled  to  do  so.  Jim  Bates  were  to 
come  into  the  yard  at  midnight  an'  tip  the  whis- 
tle. Jane  were  to  be  all  ready,  an'  pitch  out 
o'  winder  the  key  o'  the  stable-door,  which  she'd 
hev  to  get  from  Tom  Brewitt's  room.  This 
was  another  thing  easier  done  on  market-night. 
Then,  while  Jim  Bates  set  about  harnessin'  the 
mare  to  the  dogcart,  Jane  was  to  go  into  Bob's 
room,  get  his  keys,  unlock  the  safe,  and  bring 
out  the  cashbox.  That  was  another  thing  only 
safely  to  be  done  on  market-night,  an',  market- 
night  an'  all,  poor  Jane  Brewitt  felt  mighty 
trembly  about  doin'  it.  After  that  she  were  to 
gather  u|)  all  three  pairs  o'  topboots,  where  the 

34 


GREEN    GINGER 


brothers  had  a-left  'em  outside  the  bedroom 
doors — for  she  kep'  her  brothers  up  to  gentry 
ways,  did  Jane — an'  pitch  'em  away  somewheres, 
to  keep  Tom,  Bob,  an'  Sam  indoors  for  a  bit, 
in  case  they  got  roused,  an'  give  the  loviers  true 
a  good  clear  start.  That  was  Jane's  department, 
an'  so  much  done,  she  were  to  mount  the  dogcart 
with  her  lovin'  Jim  and  the  cashbox,  an'  live 
happy  ever  arter. 

"But  there  ain't  no  dependin'  on  plans  with 
absent-minded  men  about.  Poor  Jane  Brewitt 
got  frightender  an'  frightender  every  minute 
arter  her  brothers  had  gone  to  bed,  an'  she 
hadn't  the  pluck  to  go  into  Tom's  room  for  the 
stable-key  before  she  heard  Jim  Bates  in  the 
yard.  'Twere  a  fine  moonlight  night,  an'  she 
peeped  an'  saw  him. 

"  'Be  that  you,  Jim?'  says  she,  whisperin'  out 
o'  winder. 

"  'Ay,'  says  he,  whisperin'  back.  '  'Tis  arl 
right.     I  don't  want  the  stable-key.' 

"He  said  he  den't  want  the  stable-key,"  Dan 
said,  turning  to  the  company;  "an'  I'd  bet  a 
piece  you  won't  guess  why.  Tom  Brewitt,  so 
fresh  from  market  as  he  were,  had  wound  his 
watch  an'  hung  it  on  the  stable-door,  an'  took 
the  padlock  up  to  bed  with  him ;  an'  now  that 
watch  were  tickin'  away  safe  in  Jim  Bates's 
pocket!    D'ye  cap  that,  Abel  Pennyfather?" 

Abel  said  not  a  word,  and  Dan  went  on. 

35 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Well,  that  looked  like  good  luck,  and  a 
watch  In  extry,  for  poor  Jane,  but  it  weren't; 
you  can't  make  no  counts  with  absent-minders. 
But  there  were  more  to  come.  Jim  Bates 
looked  up  again,  and  he  said:  'Hev  ye  been  to 
the  safe?' 

"  'No,'  says  poor  Jane.  'I  aren't  been;  an' 
I'm  ready  to  faint  with  fear  at  the  thought.  I 
count  it  be  robbery!' 

"  'Stay  a  bit,'  says  Jim  Bates  to  her.  'What's 
that  black  thing  I  see  in  the  rosebush  under  Bob's 
winder?' 

"Well,  neighbors,"  Dan  went  on,  turning 
again  to  the  company  at  large,  "if  Abel  Penny- 
father  told  you  what  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you,  you 
mightn't  believe  it;  but,  seein'  I  say  it  myself, 
there's  no  question.  Bob  Brewitt  had  finished 
his  market-day  so  chock  full  of  absent-minded- 
ness that  he'd  opened  the  casement  instead  o'  the 
safe-door,  an'  shoved  the  cashbox  out  o'  winder! 
Can  ye  cap  that? 

"Well,  now,  that  looked  as  if  the  course  o' 
true  love  were  runnin'  smoother  than  ever,  den't 
it?  But  I  tell  'ee  again,  ye  can't  make  no  count 
with  absent-minders.  The  absence  o'  mind 
proper  to  market-night  had  helped  the  loviers 
true  as  regards  two  brothers,  but  it  ruined  an' 
shipwrecked  the  whole  venture  in  the  case  o'  the 
third.  There  was  nothin'  to  do  now  for  Jane, 
but  to  gather  up  the  boots,  an'  pelt  off  for  a 

36 


GREEN    GINGER 


weddin'   licence;   but   that  she  never  did,   for 
something  occurred. 

"Jim  Bates,  when  he  found  hisself  out  in  the 
yard  with  the  cashbox  an'  Tom  Brewitt's  watch, 
began  to  think  things  over  very  sudden.  He 
changed  his  mind  about  separatin'  Jane  an'  the 
cashbox,  an'  he  started  off  to  part  'em  just  as 
far  as  possible  in  the  longest  jumps  he  could 
make.  An'  poor  Jane,  she  couldn't  go  after 
him  because  of  what  occurred  in  the  mean- 
time; an'  so  she  lost  the  only  man  that 
ever  came  a-courtin'  to  her,  an'  died  an  old  maid 
at  last." 

"What  was  It  as  occurred  in  the  meantime?" 
asked  somebody. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  laugh,  neigh- 
bors," proceeded  Dan,  ignoring  the  interrup- 
tion; "but  I  count  'tis  a  bitter  thing  for  a  poor 
gal  to  live  her  life  through,  young  at  first  an'  old 
at  last,  an'  die,  an'  never  get  the  kindness  a 
woman  looks  for,  and  that  she  sees  the  others 
getting.  You  laugh  at  poor  Jane  Brewitt 
with  her  ugly  face,  but  she's  the  same  under 
her  skin  as  the  handsomest  gal  in  Essex.  An' 
that's  the  same  with  all  of  us.  Abel  Penny- 
father  'ud  look  quite  decent  If  you  skinned  him. 
Well,  well  1" 

"But  you  ha'n't  told  us  what  occurred  that 
stopped  her,"  protested  Prentice. 

"Den't  I?     Well  there  now!     It  caused  a 


37 


GREEN    GINGER 


rare  fanteeg,  though,  the  hullabaloo  after  Jim 
Bates.  When  they  all  woke  up,  Tom  Brewitt 
wasted  ten  minutes  tryin'  to  tell  the  time  o'  night 
by  the  padlock;  an'  Bob,  not  quite  awake  and 
still  mixin'  up  the  safe-door  an'  the  casement  in 
his  mind,  shoved  his  head  into  the  safe  an' 
bawled,  'Stop  thief!'  till  he  nigh  deaf-an'- 
dumbed  hisself.  But  they  caught  Jim  Bates  in 
the  mornin',  though,  an'  he  went  to  Springfield 
gaol  once  more.  Here's  better  luck  to  us.  'Tis 
a  dry  oad  tale." 

Dan  reached  for  Abel  Pennyfather's  new- 
filled  mug,  and  Abel,  loudly  protesting,  re- 
covered it  empty. 

"Your  mug?  Well  there,"  said  Dan,  with 
his  hand  on  the  door-knob  as  he  rose.  "There 
be  nothing  so  catchin'  in  the  world  as  that 
there  absence  o'  mind.  It'll  be  Banham's  turn 
next." 

"But  what  was't  occurred  to  stop  Jane  Brew- 
itt?" cried  everybody,  except  Pennyfather. 

"Oh,  that?"  Dan  answered,  turning  the  door- 
knob and  pulling  the  door  conveniently  ajar. 
"Well,  you  see,  she  picked  up  two  pairs  o'  top- 
boots  all  right,  but  when  she  got  to  Sam's  door 
— you  see  he'd  come  home  from  market  as  full 
of  absence  o'  mind  as  any  man  could  carry,  an' 
you  know  they  brew  it  strong  at  Rochford.  So, 
natural  enough,  he  tucked  up  his  boots  in  bed 
an'  went  asleep  outside  hisself.     So  that  when 

38 


GREEN    GINGER 


his   sister   came   along   in   the   dark   with   two 
pair    o'    boots    an'    fell    over    him,    he    jumps 

up  an' " 

But  the  empty  mug  hit  the  door  as  It 
closed,  and  it  cost  Abel  Pennyfather  eighteen 
pence. 


39 


THE  STOLEN  BLENKINSOP 


IF  it  had  been  necessary  for  Mr.  Hector 
Bushell  to  make  a  fortune  for  himself  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  he  would  have  done 
it.  Fortunately  or  unfortunately — just  as  you 
please — the  necessity  did  not  exist,  for  his  father 
had  done  it  for  him  before  he  was  born.  Con- 
sequently, Hector,  who  was  a  genial  if  somewhat 
boisterous  young  man,  devoted  his  talents  to 
the  service  of  his  friends,  whose  happiness  he 
insisted  on  promoting,  with  their  concurrence  or 
without  it,  by  the  exercise  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  world  and  whatever  was  in  it,  his  business- 
like acumen,  his  exuberant  animal  spirits,  and 
his  overflowing,  almost  pestilential,  energy. 
Quiet-mannered  acquaintances  who  spied  him 
afar  dodged  round  corners  and  ran,  rather  than 
have  their  fortunes  made  by  his  vigorously- 
expressed  advice,  enforced  by  heavy  slaps  on  the 
shoulder  and  sudden  digs  in  the  ribs,  and  some- 
times punctuated  with  a  hearty  punch  in  the 
chest.  For  he  was  a  large  and  strong,  as  well  as 
a  noisy,  young  man,  accurately,  if  vulgarly,  de- 

40 


GREEN    GINGER 


scribed  by  his  acquaintance  as  perpetually  "full 
of  beans." 

He  had  given  himself  a  reputation  as  an  art 
critic,  on  the  strength  of  a  year  or  two's  atten- 
dance at  an  art  school  in  Paris;  and,  indeed,  he 
maintained  a  studio  of  his  own,  expensively 
furnished,  where  he  received  his  friends  and  had 
more  than  once  begun  a  picture.  But  his  energies 
in  this  matter  were  mainly  directed  to  the  good 
of  painters  among  his  acquaintances,  who  were 
under  the  necessity  of  living  by  their  work.  He 
told  them  how  their  pictures  should  be  painted, 
and  how  they  could  certainly  be  sold.  Indeed, 
in  this  latter  respect  he  did  better  than  advise  the 
painter — he  advised  the  buyer,  when  he  could 
seize  one,  and  trundled  him  captive  in  the  studio 
of  his  nearest  friend  with  great  fidelity  and 
enthusiasm. 

"The  chance  of  your  life,  my  dear  sir!"  he 
would  say,  snatching  at  the  lapel  of  some 
wealthy  friend's  coat,  and  raising  the  other  hand 
with  an  imminent  threat  of  a  slap  on  the  shoul- 
der. "The  chance  of  your  life!  The  coming 
man,  I  assure  you !  Something  like  an  invest- 
ment. A  picture  they'll  offer  you  thousands  for 
some  day,  and  I  do  believe  I  can  get  it  for  you 
for  a  couple  of  hundred!  Come  and  see  it  be- 
fore some  dealer  gets  in!" 

It  was  with  some  such  speech  as  this  that  he 
interrupted  Mr.  Higby  Fewston,  the  margarine 

41 


GREEN    GINGER 


magnate,  full  of  the  report  of  the  robbery  a  day 
before  of  a  Gainsborough  portrait  from  a  house 
In  Charles  Street,  Berkeley  Square.  Mr.  Few- 
ston  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  take  a  deal  of 
interest  In  pictures  for  their  own  sake,  but  the 
newspapers  estimated  the  money  value  of  the 
missing  picture  at  twenty  thousand  pounds,  and 
he  found  that  very  touching.  He  had  the  same 
respect  for  that  Gainsborough,  which  he  had 
never  seen,  that  he  would  have  had  for  a  cheque 
for  the  sum  signed  by  the  firm  of  Rothschild; 
rather  more,  in  fact,  for  if  the  cheque  were 
stolen  it  might  be  stopped,  and  so  rendered 
valueless;  but  there  was  no  stopping  the  Gains- 
borough till  you  had  caught  the  thief.  So  that 
Mr.  Fewston  found  himself  taking  an  unwonted 
interest  In  art;  and  when  Hector  Bushell,  seizing 
the  opportunity  and  pulling  at  his  arm,  drew  him 
in  the  direction  of  Sydney  Blenkinsop's  studio, 
he  offered  less  resistance  than  otherwise  he  might 
have  done. 

"Man  named  Blenklnsop,"  declaimed  the 
zealous  Hector.  "Capital  chap,  and  paints  like 
— like  a  double  archangel.  His  studio's  close 
by — come  and  look  for  yourself.  Of  course, 
nothing  need  be  said  about  buying  the  picture, 
if  you  don't  want  to.  But  just  come  and  see  it 
— I'll  pretend  we  were  passing  and  just  dropped 
In.  You'll  have  the  sort  of  chance  that  people 
had  in  Gainsborough's  own  time.    Why,  I  don't 

42 


GREEN    GINGER 


suppose  he  got  more  than  a  couple  of  hundred  or 
so  for  the  very  picture  the  papers  are  so  full  of 
to-day!" 

Mr.  Fewston  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged 
through  many  streets — the  studio  was  not  so 
near  as  Hector's  enthusiasm  made  it  seem — and 
finally  into  the  presence  of  Mr.  Sydney  Blenkin- 
sop,  the  painter.  Blenkinsop  was,  by  the  side 
of  Bushell,  a  comparatively  quiet  young  man, 
not  without  apprehension  of  the  possible  conse- 
quences of  his  friend's  devotion;  for  one  never 
could  tell  what  wild  things  Bushell  might  have 
been  saying  about  one. 

"Ah,  Sydney,  old  boy!"  cried  that  enthusiast. 
"How  have  you  been  all  this  time?"  They 
had  last  met  the  day  before,  when  Hector  had 
hauled  in  some  other  possible  patron.  "How 
have  you  been?  Just  looked  in  as  we  were 
passing,  you  know — just  looked  in !  This  is  my 
friend,  Mr.  Higby  Fewston,  much  interested  in 
art,  and  what  he  don't  know  about  a  picture — 
well,  there !  Working  on  anything  just  now, 
eh?  I  say" — this  with  a  start  of  apprehension — ■ 
"you  haven't  sold  that  picture  yet,  have  you? 
The  stunner,  you  know,  the  Keston?" 

"Oh,  that?"  responded  Blenkinsop,  who  had 
never  sold  a  picture  in  his  life.  "No,  I  haven't. 
Not  that  one." 

"Ah,  plain  enough  Agnew  hasn't  been  here 
lately.    I'd  like  to  have  another  look  at  it,  old 

43 


GREEN    GINGER 


chap;  probably  sha'n't  have  another  chance, 
unless  it  goes  somewhere  where  I  know  the 
people.  Ah,  there  now;  look  at  that  now!" 

Mr.  Fewston  looked  at  It  blankly.  "It — It's 
a  landscape,"  he  said,  presently,  after  considera- 
tion. The  stolen  Gainsborough  had  been  a  por- 
trait, and  Mr.  Fewston  liked  things  up  to 
sample. 

"Rather!"  replied  Hector.  "It  is  a  land- 
scape, as  you  say,  and  no  mistake!  Something 
like  a  landscape  that,  eh?  I  knew  you'd  like  It, 
of  course,  having  an  eye  for  such  a  thing.  Ah, 
it's  a  topper!" 

He  fell  back  by  the  side  of  the  man  of 
margarine,  and  the  two  Inspected  the  marvel  In 
silence,  the  one  with  head  aside  and  a  smile  of 
ecstasy,  and  the  other  with  all  the  expression  of 
a  cow  puzzled  by  a  painted  field  with  nothing  to 
eat  on  It.     Sydney  Blenklnsop  shuffled  uneasily. 

Presently  Mr.  Fewston  thought  of  something 
to  say.     "Where  was  it  taken?"  he  asked. 

"Keston  Common,"  murmured  Sydney  faintly 
and  "Keston  Common"  repeated  Hector  loudly, 
making  the  title  sound  like  a  fresh  merit.  He 
also  drew  attention  to  the  wonderful  effects  of 
light  in  the  picture,  the  extraordinary  painting  of 
the  sky,  the  subtle  suggestion  of  atmosphere,  and 
the  marvellous  "values".  Mr.  Fewston  listened 
patiently  to  the  end.  There  was  another  pause 
longer  and  more  awkward  than   the  last;   it 


44 


GREEN    GINGER 


seemed  likely  to  endure  till  something  burst  in 
Sydney  Blenkinsop.  Then,  at  last,  Mr.  Higby 
Fewston  spoke,  weightily. 

"Keston,"  he  said,  with  solemn  conviction, 
**is  a  place  I  don't  like.  There's  a  bad  train 
•service." 

Such  a  criticism  as  this  even  Hector  Bushell 
could  not  readily  answer.  He  attempted  to 
evade  the  point  and  returned  again  to  his 
"values."  But  any  reference  to  values  unsup- 
ported by  definite  figures  made  little  impression 
on  the  commercial  mind  of  Mr.  Fewston,  and 
in  a  very  few  minutes  more  he  drifted  out,  with 
Hector  Bushell  still  in  close  attendance. 

Hector,  however,  remained  with  the  mar- 
garine Maecenas  only  long  enough  to  discharge 
another  volley  of  admiration  for  the  picture,  and 
took  his  leave  at  the  first  convenient  corner.  As 
a  consequence  he  was  back  in  five  minutes,  to 
discover  Sydney  Blenkinsop  vengefully  kicking 
a  lay  figure. 

"Don't  bring  another  chap  like  that  to  this 
place,"  cried  the  painter  savagely,  "or  I'll  pitch 
him  out  o'  window!" 

"My  dear  chap,  don't  be  an  ass!  You've 
got  no  business  instincts.  A  man  like  that's 
invaluable,  if  you  can  only  kid  him  on.  He'll 
buy  any  old  thing,  if  he  buys  at  all." 

"If!" 

"You're  an  ungrateful  infidel.    I  tell  you  I'm 

45 


GREEN    GINGER 


going  to  sell  that  'Keston  Common'  for  you. 
What  could  you  do  with  it  by  yourself?" 

"Put  a  stick,  through  it — burn  it — anything! 
I'm  sick  of  the  whole  business." 

"Just  what  I  expected.  You  could  put  a 
stick  through  it  or  burn  it — and  what's  the  good 
of  that?" 

"What's  the  harm?  I  can't  sell  It  and  they 
won't  hang  it  at  the  shows;  I  know  that  before 
I  send  it." 

"You  know  everything  that's  no  use  to  you, 
and  nothing  that  pays.  You  can  burn  a  picture, 
but  you  can't  sell  it.  Now,  I'm  going  to  sell 
that  picture  for  you,  If  you'll  let  me.  Will 
you?" 

"You  can  do  what  you  like  with  it." 

"Done  with  you,  my  boy!  I'll  make  you 
famous  with  it,  and  I'll  get  you  money  for  it. 
I've  an  idea  such  as  you  couldn't  invent  In 
a  lifetime.  Shut  up  the  shop  now  and  we'll 
talk  it  over  at  the  Cafe  Royal.  Come  along. 
We'll  have  a  little  dinner  out  of  the  money 
I'm  going  to  make  for  you.  But  you've  to 
take  orders  from  me,  mind!" 

II 

The  evening  papers  flamed  with  the  tale  of  the 
lost  Gainsborough,  as  the  morning  papers  had 
done  before  them,  and  the  morning  papers  of 

46 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  next  day  kept  up  the  flame  with  scarcely 
diminished  violence.  Sydney  Blenkinsop  rose 
with  nothing  but  a  headache  to  distinguish  him 
from  the  other  unknown  people  about  him,  but 
by  lunch-time  he  was  as  famous  as  Gainsborough 
himself.  For  another  picture  had  been  stolen. 
The  evening  papers  came  out  stronger  than  ever, 
giants  refreshed  by  a  new  sensation,  with  the 
blinding  headline,  ANOTHER  picture  robbery! 
Sub-headings  sang  of  A  dangerous  gang  at 
WORK,  and  deplored  A  young  painter's  miss- 
ing MASTERPIECE.  Sydney  Blenkinsop  was  the 
young  painter,  and  the  view  of  Keston  Common 
was  the  missing  masterpiece.  In  the  eyes  of 
thousands  of  worthy  people  Mr.  Sydney  Blenkin- 
sop became  an  artist  second  only  in  importance 
to  Gainsborough,  if  second  to  anybody;  and  Mr. 
Sydney  Blenkinsop,  himself  appalled  by  the  over- 
whelming success  of  Mr.  Hector  Bushell's 
scheme,  would  have  fled  the  country,  but  for  the 
superior  will-power  of  that  same  Hector  Bushell, 
who  never  left  his  side. 

For  journalists  haunted  the  studio  and  "wrote 
up"  the  whole  business  afresh  for  every  edition 
of  all  the  daily  newspapers  in  England.  Sydney 
would  have  bolted  the  door  and  fled  from  the 
rear,  but  Hector  ordered  in  caviare  sandwiches 
and  oyster  patties  and  a  case  of  champagne,  and 
was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party.  When  Sydney 
seemed  at  a  loss  for  a  judicious  answer — which 

47 


GREEN    GINGER 


occurred  pretty  often — Hector  was  instantly 
equal  to  the  occasion.  The  main  story  was  sim- 
ple enough,  and  was  cunningly  left  to  rest  en- 
tirely on  the  word  of  the  police.  The  constable 
on  the  beat  had  perceived,  in  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  that  a  window  of  the  studio  had  been 
opened,  and  a  pane  broken  in  the  process.  No^ 
body  seemed  to  be  in  the  place,  so  the  policeman 
kept  watch  by  the  window  till  assistance  arrived, 
when  it  was  found  that  obviously  a  thief  had 
entered  the  studio,  and  had  got  safely  away.  It 
was  not  found  possible  to  communicate  with  Mr. 
Blenkinsop  till  the  morning  was  well  advanced 
and  somebody  was  found  who  knew  the  address 
of  his  lodgings;  and  then  he  was  met  as  he  was 
leaving  home  for  the  studio,  in  company  with 
his  friend,  Mr.  Bushell.  Things  In  the  studio 
had  been  much  disarranged,  and  the  picture,  a 
view  of  Keston  Common,  had  been  cut  from  its 
frame  and  taken. 

So  much  for  the  simple  facts  as  observed  by 
the  police;  but  the  frills,  embroideries,  tassels, 
tinsels,  and  other  garnishings,  which  lent  variety 
and  interest  to  the  narrative  came  in  an  inexhaus- 
tible and  glorious  torrent  from  Hector  Bushell. 
He  took  each  separate  journalist  aside  and  gave 
him  the  special  privilege  of  some  wholly  new  and 
exclusive  information  as  to  the  surprising  genius 
of  Sydney  Blenkinsop,  and  the  amazing  prices 
his  pictures  were  worth  and  would  certainly 

48 


GREEN    GINGER 


fetch,  some  day.  Doubtless  the  thief  was  a 
knowing  file,  and  was  laying  up  for  the  future 
— "saving  his  stake,"  as  it  were.  Any  possible 
slump  in  Gainsboroughs — of  course,  nobody 
expected  it,  but  such  a  thing  might  happen — 
would  be  compensated  by  the  certain  rise  in 
Blenkinsops.  And  with  this  astute  suggestion 
Hector  shut  one  eye,  tapped  the  side  of  his  nose, 
and  surprised  the  favored  reporter  with  one  of 
his  celebrated  digs  in  the  ribs. 

The  newspapers  on  their  part  neglected  noth- 
ing, Gainsborough  and  Blenkinsop  had  a 
column  apiece,  side  by  side,  in  most  of  them,  and 
in  the  rest  they  had  more,  or  were  fraternally 
mingled  together.  "Is  no  masterpiece  safe?" 
asked  the  Press.  And,  answering  its  own  ques- 
tion with  no  more  than  a  paragraph's  delay,  the 
Press  gave  its  opinion  that  no  masterpiece  was. 
To  have  put  in  question  the  new-born  eminence 
of  Blenkinsop  would  have  been  to  spoil  the  boom 
in  the  most  unbusinesslike  way.  Of  course,  a 
Turner,  or  a  Raeburn,  or  another  Gainsborough 
would  have  been  preferable,  but  as  it  was  the 
Press  had  to  do  its  best  v/ith  the  materials  to 
hand,  and  so  it  did,  to  the  glory  of  Blenkinsop. 
The  notion  of  a  thief  or  a  gang  of  thieves  going 
about  after  valuable  pictures  was  too  good  to 
waste,  and  every  newspaper  expressed  the  sage 
conjecture  that,  where  one  picture  was,  there 
would  the  other  be  found.    One  scribbling  cynic 

.49 


GREEN    GINGER 


managed  to  squeeze  in  a  hint  that  this  might 
suggest  the  valuable  clue  of  lunacy  in  the  culprit; 
though  nobody  noticed  that  in  the  general  flood 
of  Blenkinsoppery. 

But  in  the  intervals  of  interviewing,  when  the 
friends  had  a  few  minutes  of  private  conversa- 
tion, there  was  a  notable  lack  of  gratitude  in 
Sydney's  acknowledgments. 

"This  is  a  fine  ghastly  mess  you've  landed 
me  in!"  he  protested,  at  the  first  opportunity. 
"How  do  you  expect  me  to  look  all  these 
people  in  the  face?" 

"How?  Oh,  the  usual  way — only  the  usual 
way,  you  know !  The  more  usual  the  better. 
/  don't  find  any  difficulty!" 

"You?  No — you're  enjoying  it;  you've  the 
cheek  for  anything.  I'm  the  sufferer.  I've  had 
to  stand  here  and  yarn  to  a  police-inspector  about 
the  beastly  business !" 

"Yarn!  The  simple,  plain,  clear  truth!  You 
dined  with  me  last  night  at  the  Cafe  Royal, 
leaving  the  studio  just  as  usual.  And  in  the 
morning  you  came  here,  also  as  usual,  and 
found  the  police  in  charge.  Straightforward 
enough.  Of  course,  he  didn't  ask  you  any- 
thing about  me.  It  seems  to  me  you've  got 
the  soft  job.  I'm  doing  all  the  work,  and  as 
to  enjoying  it,  of  course  I  am!  Why  aren't 
you?" 

"Enjoying  it!     Good  heavens,  man,  I  never 

50 


GREEN    GINGER 


expected  such  a  row  as  this;  I  was  a  fool  to 
listen  to  you." 

"Now,  there!"  Hector  Bushell  spread  his 
arms  in  injured  protest.  "There's  ingratitude ! 
I've  positively  made  you  the  most  celebrated 
painter  alive,  all  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours, 
and  you — you  pretend  you  don't  like  it !  Oh, 
come  off  it !  Why,  there  are  thousands  of 
respectable  people  in  this  country  to-day,  who 
couldn't  name  six  painters  who  ever  lived,  that 
know  all  about  you — and  Gainsborough.  I 
fetched  the  Press  round — did  it  all!" 

"And  how's  it  all  going  to  end?  And  where 
is  the  picture?     Why  won't  you  tell  me  that?" 

"Well,  I  was  afraid  somebody  might  catch  on 
to  a  sort  of  idea  that  you  knew  where  it  was, 
and  I  wanted  you  to  be  able  to  say  you  didn't, 
that's  all.  Nobody  has  had  any  such  unworthy 
suspicions,  and  so  there's  no  harm  in  inviting 
you  to  admire  the  dodge.  When  I  got  home 
last  night,  with  the  canvas  rolled  up  under  my 
arm,  I  just  took  it  to  bed  with  me  till  the 
morning.  When  I  woke  I  thought  it  over,  and 
I  remembered  a  big  roll  of  old  stair-carpet  up 
in  a  garret  where  nobody  went — a  useless  old 
roll  that  my  dear  old  mother  has  dragged  about 
with  us  for  years — ever  since  we  lived  in  Russell 
Square,  in  fact.  It's  never  been  touched  since 
it  came,  and  never  will  be.  So  I  nipped  out 
and  up  into  the  garret  with  the  picture,  unrolled 

51 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  few  yards  of  the  carpet,  slipped  the  canvas  in 
very  carefully,  painted  side  out,  rolled  up  the 
carpet  again,  tied  it,  and  shoved  it  back  among 
the  other  old  lumber.  And  there  it  can  stay, 
safe  as  the  Bank,  till  we  want  it  again!" 

"Till  we  want  it  again !  And  when  will  that 
be?" 

"When  we've  sold  it.  You  leave  it  to  me, 
my  bonny  boy.  Remember  that  other  Gains- 
borough that  was  stolen — the  'Duchess.'  Would 
that  have  fetched  such  a  price  if  it  hadn't  been 
stolen  and  boomed  up?  Not  on  your  life.  I'm 
out  to  sell  that  picture  for  you,  and  I'm  going 
to  do  It — to  say  nothing  of  Immortal  glory, 
which  I'm  positively  shovelling  on  you  where 
you  stand.  Hark!  There's  another  reporter. 
Keep  up  that  savage,  worried  look — It's  just  the 
thing  for  the  plundered  genius!" 

But  this  visitor  was  no  reporter.  It  was, 
Indeed,  Mr.  HIgby  Fewston,  much  more  alert 
and  affable  than  yesterday,  and  eager  for  news 
of  the  picture. 

"Is  there  any  chance  of  getting  It?"  he  asked, 
with  some  eagerness.  "Have  the  police  got  on 
the  track  of  the  thief  yet?" 

"No,  they  haven't  yet,"  replied  Hector 
Bushell,  calmly.  "But  I  should  think  there  was 
a  very  good  chance  of  getting  the  picture,  ulti- 
mately." 

"1  suppose  you'll  offer  a  reward?" 

52 


GREEN    GINGER 


*'Well,  we'll  have'to  think  It  over.  It's  a  bit 
early  as  yet." 

"Tell  me  now,"  Mr.  Fewston  pursued,  with 
increasing  animation,  "can  the  picture  be  prop- 
erly repaired?     Isn't  it  cut  out  of  the  frame?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  nothing.  It's  easily  relined 
and  put  back." 

"That's  satisfactory.  And  now  as  to  the 
flowers — I  think  I  remember  yellow  flowers  right 
in  the  front  of  the  picture.  They  are  cowslips, 
I  hope?" 

"Oh,  yes — cowslips,  of  course,"  replied  Hec- 
tor, with  easy  confidence,  since  cowslips  seemed 
to  be  required.  While  Sydney  Blenkinsop,  who 
had  spotted  in  a  few  touches  of  yellow  in  the 
foreground  because  it  seemed  to  be  wanted,  and 
with  a  vague  idea  of  possible  furze-blossoms,  or 
buttercups,  gasped  and  wondered. 

"And  I  suppose  more  cowslips  could  be  put 
in,  if  required,  by  a  competent  man?" 

"I  don't  think  any  more  are  required,"  put 
in  Sydney  Blenkinsop,  decidedly. 

"No — very  likely  not — just  an  inquiry.  I 
did  think  at  the  time  there  seemed  to  be  rather 
a  lot  of  cowslips  for  Keston  Common,  but  I 
do  a  good  deal  in  the  'Cowslip'  brand  of — the 
— the  article  I  deal  in,  and  there  might  be  a 
possibility  of  reproducing  the  work  as  an  ad- 
vertisement. One  has  to  consider  all  these 
things,  of  course;  and  on  the  whole  I'd  like 

53 


GREEN    GINGER 


to  buy  that  picture,  if  you  get  it  back.  What 
about  price?" 

"Five  hundred,"  said  Hector,  promptly,  be- 
fore Sydney  could  open  his  mouth. 

"Um,  rather  high,  isn't  it?"  commented 
Fewston  equably.  "I  was  thinking  of,  say, 
three  hundred." 

"Well,  yes,"  Hector  responded,  just  as  af- 
fably. "Yesterday  that  might  have  done,  but 
just  now  it's  to-day."  And  he  regarded  the 
margarine  magnate  with  a  long,  deliberate, 
placid  wink. 

"Ah  well,  I  understand,  of  course,"  replied 
Fewston,  who  appeared  to  far  better  advantage 
to-day,  discussing  business,  than  yesterday,  mis- 
understanding art.  "Of  course,  I  quite  recognize 
that  all  this  publicity — naturally  Mr.  Blenkinsop 
wants  all  the  benefit  possible  from  it — quite 
legitimate,  of  course.  But  there,  the  picture  isn't 
recovered  yet.  Meantime,  I  may  consider  I  have 
the  refusal  of  it  contingently,  I  suppose.  You 
see,  Mr.  Bushell — you  are  evidently  a  man  of 
business — this  may  be  useful  to  me.  A  great 
deal  of  space  is  being  devoted  to  Mr.  Blenkinsop 
and  his  picture  in  the  papers,  and  I — well,  it 
would  be  worth  my  while  to  be  in  it,  as  con- 
spicuously as  possible.     Do  you  perceive?" 

"I  think  I  see.  To-morrow  morning's  papers, 
for  instance:  'We  are  at  liberty  to  state  that 
Mr.  Sydney  Blenkinsop's  now  famous  picture 

54 


GREEN    GINGER 


was  destined  for  the  galleries  of  one  of  the  best 
known  of  our  merchant  princes;  in  fact,  that 
in  the  event  of  its  hoped-for  recovery  it  is  to 
be  purchased  by  Mr.  Higby  Fewston,  and  will 
make  a  conspicuous  feature  of  that  gentleman's 
collection,'  I  think  that  can  go  in — no  doubt 
even  a  little  more." 

"Excellent!  Will  you  do  that?  And  it  is 
understood  that  if  you  get  the  picture — you  say 
there's  a  very  good  chance — I  have  first  re- 
fusal." 

"At  five  hundred  pounds." 

"Three  hundred,  I  think." 

"Wouldn't  do,  really,  as  things  go.  Con- 
sider what  the  Gainsborough  would  cost  you 
if  you  could  get  that,  now  that  it  has  been 
stolen !" 

"Well,  well,  we'll  leave  it  at  four  hundred, 
unless  you  get  a  higher  offer;  it's  rather  absurd 
discussing  this,  with  the  picture  lost.  But  I  do 
want  to  be  sure  that  I  get  proper  publicity  in 
the  papers.  You'll  see  to  that,  won't  you? 
You  see,  this  is  just  the  time  I  want  it.  I  am 
putting  up  for  the  County  Council,  and — this 
strictly  between  ourselves — there  is  just  the 
possibility  that  I  may  be  turning  my  business 
into  a  limited  company.  So  all  these  things  help, 
and  I  and  my  family  are  keeping  ourselves  for- 
ward as  much  as  possible  just  now.  Mrs. 
Fewston,  for  instance,  is  making  an  appeal  for 

ss 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  Stockjobbers'  Almhouses,  and  running  a 
sale.  And  this  picture — well,  if  it's  recovered 
we  shan't  quarrel  about  the  price  so  long  as  you 
get  me  well  into  the  papers  in  the  meantime. 
lYou  see,  I'm  perfectly  frank — we'll  do  our  best 
for  each  other,  mutually." 

And  so  it  was  settled  between  Mr.  Fewston 
and  the  untiring  Bushell,  while  Sydney  Blenkin- 
sop  hovered  uneasily  in  the  background,  a 
superfluous  third  party  in  the  disposal  of  his 
own  picture;  which  also  seemed  to  be  super- 
fluous, so  far  as  its  merits  were  concerned — or 
even  its  present  possession. 


Ill 


Mr.  Higby  Fewston  was  well  satisfied  with 
the  next  morning's  newspapers.  Hector  Bushell 
saw  to  it  that  every  ofl!ice  was  supplied  with 
information  of  the  merits  and  doings  of  that 
patron  of  fine  art,  and  during  the  day  the 
evening  papers  interviewed  Mr.  Fewston  him- 
self, to  the  combined  glory  of  Fewston  and 
Blenkinsop.  Mr.  Fewston  expressed  strong 
opinions  as  to  the  inefficiency  of  the  police,  and 
made  occasion  to  allude  to  his  views  on  the  Lon- 
don County  Council.  Speaking  as  an  art  critic 
Mr.  Fewston  considered  Mr.  Blenkinsop  cer- 
tainly the  greatest  painter  of  the  present  time; 
and  the  stolen  masterpiece  was  a  great  loss  to 

56 


GREEN    GINGER 


him,  personally,  the  intending  purchaser.  There 
could  be  no  doubt,  in  Mr.  Fewston's  mind,  that 
the  same  clever  gang  had  captured  the  two  great 
pictures — evidently  educated  criminals  of  great 
artistic  judgment.  And  then  came  certain 
notable  and  mysterious  hints  as  to  astonish- 
ing things  that  Mr.  Fewston  might  say  as 
to  the  whereabouts  of  the  plunder,  if  it  were 
judicious — which  at  this  moment,  of  course, 
it  was  not. 

The  "boom"  went  so  well  that  Sydney  Blen- 
kinsop  himself  began  to  look  upon  his  sudden 
notoriety  with  a  more  complacent  eye.  In  an- 
other day  or  two  the  affair  had  run  best  part  of 
the  ordinary  course  of  a  newspaper  sensation,  the 
Bishop  of  London  had  given  his  opinion  on  it, 
and  while  the  Gainsborough  column  shrank  con- 
siderably, the  Blenkinsop  column  became  a  mere 
paragraph  at  its  foot.  It  would  seem  to  be  the 
proper  moment  for  the  recovery  of  the  picture. 

And  now  it  grew  apparent  that  this  was  the 
great  difficulty.  What  had  been  done  was  easy 
enough;  it  had  almost  done  itself — with  the 
constant  help  of  Hector.  But  to  restore  the 
picture — naturally,  unsuspiciously,  and  without 
putting  anybody  in  gaol — this  was  a  job  that 
grew  more  difficult  the  more  it  was  considered. 
Hector  Bushell  grew  unwontedly  thoughtful,  and 
Sydney  Blenkinsop  began  to  get  ungrateful 
again.    He  had  been  dragged  up  a  blind  alley, 

57 


GREEN    GINGER 


he  said,  and  now  he  wanted  to  know  the  way- 
out.  Hector  smoked  a  great  many  strong  cigars 
without  being  able  to  tell  him. 

They  parted  moodily  one  night  toward  the 
end  of  the  week,  and  the  next  day  Sydney  was 
alone  In  his  studio  all  the  morning.  He  was 
growing  fidgety  and  irritable,  notwithstanding 
his  new-found  eminence,  and  he  wondered  what 
kept  Hector  away.  Was  he  going  to  shirk  now 
that  the  real  pinch  was  coming?  Work  was  Im- 
possible, so  the  partaker  in  Gainsborough's  glory 
loafed  and  smoked  and  kicked  his  furniture,  and 
smoked  and  loafed  again.  His  lunch  was 
brought  him  from  the  corner  public-house,  and 
he  ate  what  he  could  of  it.  Then  he  took  to 
looking  out  of  door,  as  is  the  useless  impulse  of 
everybody  anxiously  awaiting  a  visitor.  He  had 
done  It  twice,  and  was  nearing  the  lobby  again 
when  the  cry  of  a  running  newsboy  struck  his 
ear.  He  pulled  the  door  open  hurriedly,  for  In 
the  shout  he  seemed  to  hear  something  like  the 
name  Gainsborough.  There  came  the  boy, 
shouting  at  each  studio  door  as  he  passed,  and 
waving  his  papers.  Sydney  extended  his  coin 
and  snatched  the  paper  as  the  boy  ran  past.  It 
was  fact;  he  had  heard  the  name  of  Gains- 
borough, for  the  thousandth  time  that  week. 
The  picture  had  been  discovered  In  the  thief's 
lodgings,  but  the  thief  had  bolted  and  was  still 
at  large.    There  was  not  much  of  it  under  the 

58 


GREEN    GINGER 


staring  headline,  but  so  much  was  quite  clear. 
The  picture  was  found,  but  the  thief  had  got 
away. 

Wasn't  there  a  chance  in  this?  Surely  there 
ought  to  be.  Why  didn't  Hector  Bushell  come? 
Surely,  if  they  were  prompt  enough,  some  little 
dodge  might  be  built  on  this  combination  of 
circumstances,  by  which  his  picture  might  be 
brought  to  light  again — this  also  without  the 
thief.  They  knew,  now,  where  the  thief  had 
been,  and  that  he  was  gone.  This  was  good 
news.  Hector  could  certainly  make  something 
of  that.     Where  was  he? 

He  was  at  the  door  In  the  lobby,  in  the 
studio,  even  as  the  thought  passed.  Flushed 
and  rumpled,  wild  of  eye,  with  dust  on  his 
coat  and  a  dint  In  his  hat.  Hector  Bushell 
dropped  into  the  nearest  seat  with  an  Inarticulate 
"G'lor!" 

"What's  up?"  cried  Sydney.  "The  Gains- 
borough— do  you  know?    They've  got  it!" 

"Blow  the  Gainsborough — where's  the  Blen- 
klnsop?    Sydney,  it's  a  bust  up  1" 

"What  is?" 

"The  whole  festive  caboodle  !  The  entire  bag 
of  tricks !  My  mother's  been  and  sent  the  roll 
of  stair-carpet  to  the  jumble  sale  1" 

"The  whatf 

"Jumble  sale — Mrs.  Fewston's  jumble  sale; 
Stockjobbers'  Almhouse  Fund!" 

59 


GREEN   GINGER 


"Great  heavens!" — Sydney  leapt  for  his  hat 
— "where  is  it?    When  is  it!    What " 

"No  go!"  interrupted  Hector,  with  a  feeble 
wave  of  the  hand.  "No  go !  It's  to-day — I've 
been  there.  Blazed  off  there  the  moment  I  knew 
it.  They'd  sold  the  carpet  to  an  old  woman 
just  before  I  arrived.  Nice  girl  I  know,  helping 
at  Mrs.  Fewston's  stall,  told  me  that.  Just  then 
up  came  Mrs.  Fewston  herself,  glaring  straight 
over  my  head  as  though  I  was  too  small  and 
too  beastly  to  look  at.  A  dead  cut,  if  ever  I 
saw  one !  I  felt  a  bit  uneasy  at  that.  But  the 
nice  girl  told  me  the  name  of  the  old  woman 
who  had  the  carpet  and  where  she  lived.  So  I 
streaked  out  after  her  and  caught  her  two  streets 
off;  she  was  shoving  her  plunder  home  in  a 
perambulator.  I  grabbed  it  with  both  hands  and 
offered  to  buy  it.  I  was  a  bit  wild  and  sudden, 
I  expect,  and  the  old  girl  didn't  understand; 
started  screaming,  and  laid  into  me  with  an 
umbrella.  I  wasn't  going  to  wait  for  a  crowd, 
so  I  out  with  the  stair-carpet  and  bowled  it  open 
all  along  the  pavement.  There  was  no  picture 
in  it — nothing!  I  kicked  it  the  whole  length 
out,  all  along  the  street,  and  then  pelted  round 
the  next  corner  while  the  old  party  was  tangled 
up  with  the  other  end.  Sydney,  my  boy,  Few- 
ston's got  that  picture  now!  The  carpet  was 
sent  to  the  house !" 

60 


GREEN    GINGER 


"What  in  the  world  shall  we  do?  We're 
in  a  fine  sort  of  mess!" 

For  a  time  Hector  Bushell  had  no  answer: 
he  was  considering  many  things.  Mrs.  Few- 
ston's  disdainful  cut;  the  fact  that  the  carpet — • 
and  the  picture — had  been  In  Fewston's  house 
since  the  evening  of  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Also  he  wondered  why  Fewston  had  made  no 
sign.  He  had  had  a  full  day  and  a  half  to  flare 
up  in,  if  he  had  felt  that  way  Inclined;  but  there 
had  been  no  flare.  Why?  Hector's  faculties 
gradually  ranged  themselves  and  he  began  to 
understand.  Could  Fewston  afford  to  stultify 
himself  after  the  advertisement  he  had  so 
eagerly  snatched?  And  there  were  the  inter- 
views in  the  newspapers !  And  the  County 
Council  election!  And  the  limited  company! 
It  grew  plain  that  Mr.  Fewston's  interests 
were  not  wholly  divorced  from  their  own, 
after  all. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  reiterated  Sydney, 
wildly.    "We're  in  a  most  hideous  mess !" 

"Mess?"  repeated  Hector,  straightening  his 
hat  and  gradually  assuming  his  customary  placid- 
ity. "Mess?  Oh,  I  don't  know,  after  all.  I 
was  a  bit  startled  at  first,  but  we  haven't  accused 
anybody,  you  know.  We're  perfectly  Innocent. 
If  you  like  to  authorize  me  to  get  in  at  your 
studio  window  to  fetch  a  picture,  why  shouldn't 
you?    And  If  the  police  like  to  jump  to  conclu- 

6i 


GREEN    GINGER 


sions — well,  they  ought  to  know  better.  Lend 
me  a  clothes-brush." 

"But  what  about  Fewston?" 

"That's  why  I  want  the  clothes-brush.  He's 
in  it  pretty  deep,  one  way  and  another,  eh? 
We'll  go  round  and  collect  that  money." 


62 


CAP  EN  JOLLYFAX'S  GUN 

THE  fame  of  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun  spread 
wide  over  Thames  mouth  and  the  coasts 
thereabout,  in  the  years  before  and  after 
the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  gun 
was  no  such  important  thing  to  look  at,  being  a 
little  brass  cannon  short  of  a  yard  long,  standing 
in  a  neat  little  circle  of  crushed  cockle-shell,  with 
a  border  of  nicely  matched  flints,  by  the  side  of 
Cap'en  Jollyfax's  white  flagstaff,  before  Cap'en 
Jollyfax's  blue  front  door,  on  the  green  ridge 
that  backed  the  marshes  and  overlooked  the  sea. 
But  small  as  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun  might  be  to 
look  at,  it  was  most  amazingly  large  to  hear; 
perhaps  not  so  deep  and  thunderous  as  loud  and 
angry,  with  a  ringing  bang  that  seemed  to  tear 
the  ear-drums. 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  fired  the  gun  at  midnight  on 
Christmas  eve,  to  start  the  carollers.  Again  he 
fired  it  at  midnight  between  the  old  year  and 
the  new,  to  welcome  the  year;  on  the  ninth 
of  January,  because  that  was  the  anniversary 
of  Nelson's  funeral,  and  on  the  twenty-eighth, 
because  that  was  the  date  of  the  battle  of 
Aliwal,  then  a  recent  victory.     He  fired  it  on 

63 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  Queen's  birthday,  on  Waterloo  day,  Trafal- 
gar day,  St.  Clement's  day — for  Clement  was 
the  parish  saint — and  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
battle  of  the  Nile;  and  on  the  fifth  of  November 
he  fired  It  at  intervals  all  day  long,  and  as  fast 
as  he  could  clean  and  load  it  after  dark.  He 
also  fired  it  on  his  own  birthday,  on  Roboshobery 
Dove's,  Sam  Prentice's,  old  Tom  Blyth's,  and 
any  other  casual  birthday  he  might  hear  of.  He 
fired  it  in  commemoration  of  every  victory  re- 
ported during  the  Crimean  war  and  the  Indian 
Mutiny,  he  fired  it  to  celebrate  all  weddings, 
some  christenings,  and  once  when  they  hanged 
a  man  at  Springfield  gaol. 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  a  retired  master  mariner 
of  lusty  girth  and  wide  and  brilliant  countenance. 
In  the  intervals  between  the  discharges  of  his  gun 
he  painted  his  cottage,  his  flagstaff,  his  garden 
fence  and  gate,  and  any  other  thing  that  was  his 
on  which  paint  would  stay,  except  the  gun,  which 
he  kept  neatly  scoured  and  polished. 

He  painted  the  flagstaff  white,  the  fence  green, 
and  the  cottage  in  several  colors;  and  the 
abiding  mystery  of  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  establish- 
ment was  what  ultimately  became  of  the  paint. 
For  a  new  coat  succeeded  the  last  very  soon  after 
the  surface  was  suflSciently  dry,  and  the  consump- 
tion of  paint  was  vast;  and  yet  the  flagstaff  never 
seemed  to  grow  much  thicker,  nor  did  the  fence, 
as  a  reasonable  person  would  expect,  develop 

■64 


GREEN   GINGER 


into  a  continuous  wall  of  paint,  supported  with- 
in by  a  timber  skeleton. 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  a  popular  man  on  the 
whole,  though  perhaps  more  particularly  so  with 
boys,  because  of  his  gun.  They  would  congre- 
gate about  the  fence  to  watch  him  clean  it  and 
load  it,  and  the  happiest  of  all  boys  was  the  one 
who  chanced  to  be  nearest  when  it  was  fired,  and 
whose  ears  were  loudest  assailed  by  the  rending 
bang  that  was  so  delightful  to  every  boy's 
senses.  Boys  dreamed  at  night  of  some  impossi- 
ble adventure  by  the  issue  whereof  the  happy 
dreamer  was  accorded  the  reward  of  permission 
to  fire  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun;  and  one  boy  at 
least  formed  a  dark  project  of  hoarding  pennies, 
buying  powder,  escaping  by  perilous  descent 
from  his  bedroom  window,  and  firing  Cap'en 
Jollyfax's  gun  lawlessly  in  the  depth  of  night. 

But  if  the  gun  enhanced  Cap'en  Jollyfax's 
popularity  among  the  boys,  its  tendency  was 
otherway  with  the  women — those  in  particular 
who  lived  near  enough  to  be  startled  by  its  noise. 
The  natural  feminine  distrust  of  all  guns  in  all 
circumstances  was  increased  in  the  case  of  a  brass 
cannon,  which  might  go  off  at  any  moment  of 
Cap'en  Jollyfax's  crowded  calendar.  And  it 
was  asserted  that  Mrs.  Billing,  the  widow,  who 
lived  at  the  hill-foot,  exactly  under  Cap'en  Jolly- 
fax's line  of  fire,  had  been  startled  into  the 
destruction  of  three  basins  and  a  large  dish  with- 

65 


GREEN    GINGER 


in  one  month  of  many  birthdays.  Mrs.  BilHng, 
indeed,  as  was  to  be  expected  from  her  situation, 
was  the  brass  gun's  chief  enemy.  Consequently, 
if  Cap'en  Jollyfax  had  dragged  his  gun  up  the 
aisle  of  Leigh  church  and  fired  it  under  the 
pulpit  he  could  scarcely  have  startled  the  pa- 
rishioners more  than  did  ♦'he  rector  when  he  first 
read  the  banns  of  marriage  between  John  Jolly- 
fax,  bachelor,  and  Mary  Ann  Billing,  widow, 
both  of  that  parish. 

Except  for  the  gun  there  need  have  been  little 
to  startle  Leigh,  for  Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  none 
so  old,  as  retired  skippers  went  thereabout,  and 
Mrs.  Billing  was  as  neat  and  pleasant  a  widow 
of  forty-two  as  might  be  found  in  Essex,  where 
the  widows  have  always  been  admirable.  More- 
over, she  had  no  incumbrance  in  the  way  of 
children. 

But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  fact  now,  even 
for  the  deaf  who  v/ere  not  at  church.  For  the 
succeeding  fortnight  and  a  day  or  two  over 
Cap'en  Jollyfax  and  Mrs.  Billing  were  visible, 
day  by  day  and  arm-in-arm,  from  shop  to  shop, 
in  Leigh  High  Street.  The  result  was  no  great 
advance  in  the  retail  commerce  of  Leigh — in 
fact,  none.  The  household  appointments  of 
both  Cap'en  Jollyfax  and  Mrs.  Billing  were 
fairly  complete  in  their  humble  way;  and  when 
Mrs.  Billing  had  triumphantly  hauled  Cap'en 
Jollyfax  into  an  ironmonger's  in  pursuit  of  a 

66 


GREEN    GINGER 


certain  fish-kettle  or  a  particular  fender,  she  was 
certain  presently  to  discover  that  just  such  an 
article  embellished  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  kitchen, 
or  her  own.  Nevertheless,  she  persevered,  for 
a  bout  of  shopping  was  the  proper  preliminary 
to  any  respectable  wedding,  and  must  be  per- 
formed with  full  pomp  and  circumstance;  and  if 
nothing,  or  very  little,  was  actually  bought,  so 
much  the  cheaper.  Mrs.  Billing  was  resolved 
to  be  baulked  of  no  single  circumstance  of  dis- 
tinction and  triumph  appertaining  to  the  oc- 
casion. And  Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  mightily  re-: 
lieved  to  find  so  much  shopping  cost  so  little 
after  all;  so  that  he  grew  gradually  more  cheer- 
ful as  the  wedding-day  neared,  which  Is  said  not 
to  be  invariably  the  case  in  these  circumstances. 
The  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  morning  of  a 
certain  Wednesday,  and  on  the  evening  before 
the  day  Mrs.  Billing  spent  some  little  time  in 
glorious  authority  on  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  premises, 
superintending  the  labor  of  Mrs.  Packwood, 
who  did  charing,  and  was  now  employed  to 
make  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  place 
suit  the  fancies  of  its  coming  mistress.  Flushed 
with  hours  of  undisputed  command,  Mrs.  Bil- 
ling emerged  in  the  little  garden,  whereunto 
Cap'en  Jollyfax  had  retreated  early  In  the  opera- 
tions; and  there  perceived  to-morrow's  bride- 
»groom  in  the  act  of  withdrawing  a  broomstick 
from  the  mouth  of  the  brass  gun. 

67 


GREEN    GINGER 


"What  ha'  you  been  a-doing  to  that  gun, 
John?"  demanded  Mrs.  Billing  rather  peremp- 
torily, eyeing  the  weapon  askant. 

"A-givin'  her  a  rub  up  inside  an'  out,"  an- 
swered Cap'en  Jollyfax  placably.  "An'  I've 
just  rammed  her  with  a  good  big  charge  ready 
for  to-morrow." 

"Why  for  to-morrow?"  Mrs.  Billing's  voice 
was  a  trifle  sharper  still,  and  she  turned  a  fresh 
glance  of  unmistakable  dislike  on  the  gun. 

"Why  for  to-morrow?"  Cap'en  Jollyfax 
repeated  wonderingly.  "Why,  weddin'-day,  o' 
course.  Touch  her  off  when  we  come  home 
from  church." 

"Nothin'  o'  the  sort."  She  spoke  now  with 
a  positive  snap.  "A  nasty,  dangerous,  banging 
thing  as  frightens  people  out  of  their  seven 
senses.  I  won't  hev  it.  Why,  'twere  almost 
more'n  I  could  stand  down  there  at  the  bottom 
o'  the  hill,  an'  hev  that  thing  go  off  near  me  I 
will  not,  so  there." 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  stared  blankly.  "What!" 
he  jerked  out,  scarce  believing  his  ears,  "not 
fire  the  gun  on  the  weddin'-day?" 

"No,"  Mrs.  Billing  replied  emphatically, 
"nor  any  other  day,  neither.  Folk  'ud  think  you 
were  a  little  boy,  a-playin'  with  sich  toys;  an'  I 
can't  abear  to  be  near  the  thing." 

The  staring  wonder  faded  gradually  from 
Cap'en  Jollyfax's  face,  and  a  certain  extra  red- 

68 


GREEN    GINGER 


ness  succeeded  it.     "I  be  goin'  to  fire  my  gun  on 
my  weddin'-day,"  he  said  firmly. 

"You  ben't  nothin'  o'  the  sort,"  rejoined  the 
widow,  no  less  firmly;  "not  on  rny  weddin'-day. 
Nayther  then  nor  after,  if  I'm  your  wife.  Just 
you  take  the  charge  out  o'  that  gun." 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  shook  his  head,  with  some- 
thing like  triumph  in  his  eye.  "Won't  come  out 
'cept  you  fire  it,"  he  said.  "That's  the  only 
way." 

"Very  well  then,  fire  it  now — not  now,  but 
as  soon  as  I  be  gone.  Fire  off  your  gun  for 
the  last  time  to-night,  and  be  done  with  sich 
foolishness." 

"Ben't  nothin'  to  fire  it  for  to-day,"  the  old 
sailor  returned  shortly.  "This  gun's  my  depart- 
ment, an'  I'm  goin'  to  'tend  to  it.  I'm  goin'  to 
put  the  tarpaulin  over  it  now,  an'  to-morrow, 
Polly,  when  we're  back  from  church,  I'm  goin' 
to  fire  it." 

Mrs.  Billing  bridled.  "You're  a-goin'  to  fire 
that  gun  before  I  go  to  church  with  'ee,  John 
Jollyfax,  an'  not  load  it  agin,  nayther." 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  fire  this  gun  when  we're 
back  from  church,  an'  afterwards  when 
proper." 

"Cap'en  John  Jollyfax,  I  ben't  goin'  to  church 
with  'ee  till  after  that  gun  be  fired.  So  now  you 
know.  If  you  don't  fire  it  to-night  you  must 
fire  it  to-morrow  before  I  turn  a  step  toward 
church.    That's  my  word  on  it." 

69 


GREEN  GINGER 


"I'm  a-goin'  to  fire  my  gun  when  I  like," 
growled  Cap'en  Jollyfax,  dogged  and  sulky. 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  widow,  tossing  her 
head  and  turning  away,  "then  if  you  want  me 
to  wed  'ee,  an'  when  you  want  me  to  wed  'ee, 
you'll  fire  It  first.  Then,  maybe,  I'll  consider  of 
it.  But  no  wife  o'  yours  I'll  be  till  that  powder 
be  fired  off.  An'  so  good-evenin'  to  'ee,  Cap'en 
Jollyfax." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  period  of  vast 
interest  and  excitement  in  Leigh  and  Its  neigh- 
borhood. Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun  remained  silent 
all  that  night,  nor  was  It  fired  in  the  morning. 
What  Mrs.  Billing's  feelings  were  in  the  matter, 
whether  she  sat  anxiously  listening  for  the  sound 
of  the  gun,  as  some  averred,  or  dismissed  the 
whole  subject  from  her  mind,  as  her  subsequent 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Peck  suggested,  are 
secrets  I  cannot  pretend  to  have  penetrated. 
Cap'en  Jollyfax,  on  his  part,  consulted  deeply 
In  the  morning  with  Roboshobery  Dove,  and 
evolved  a  scheme  of  strategy  suited  to  the  physi- 
cal features  of  the  place.  As  the  hour  fixed  for 
the  wedding  drew  near,  Cap'en  Jollyfax,  in  his 
best  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons  and  his  very 
shiniest  hard  glazed  hat,  approached  the  church- 
yard and  took  his  seat,  in  a  non-committal  sort 
of  way,  on  the  low  stone  wall  that  bounded  it, 
with  his  back  toward  the  church.  Roboshobery 
Dove  crouched  behind  a  corner  of  the  same  wall, 
vastly  Inconvenienced  by  his  wooden  leg,  but 

70 


GREEN    GINGER 


steadily  directing  his  telescope  downhill,  so  that 
It  bore  exactly  on  the  door  of  Mrs.  Billing's 
cottage.  It  was  Roboshobery's  duty,  as  look- 
out man,  to  report  instantly  if  Mrs.  Billing  were 
seen  emerging  from  the  door  with  her  best 
bonnet  on,  In  which  event  Cap'en  Jollyfax  would 
at  once  leave  the  wall  and  take  up  his  position  at 
the  church  door  to  receive  her.  Failing  that, 
Cap'en  Jollyfax  would  be  spared  the  ignominy 
of  waiting  at  the  church  for  a  bride  who  never 
came. 

At  intervals  Cap'en  Jollyfax  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  roared:  "Look-out  ahoy!" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  came  the  unvarying  reply. 

"Hev'ee  sighted?" 

"Nothin'  but  the  door!" 

Whereat  the  watch  would  resume  for  ten 
minutes   more. 

It  was  three-quarters  of  an  hour  past  the  time 
fixed,  when  the  rector,  himself  never  very  punc- 
tual, came  angrily  to  the  church  door,  surveyed 
the  small  crowd  which  had  gathered,  and  be- 
came aware  of  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  strategy. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  demanded 
of  Mrs.  Peck,  who,  in  fact,  was  spying  in  the 
interests  of  the  opposite  party.  "Where's  Mrs. 
Billing?" 

"Mrs.  Billing,  sir,  she  say  she'll  never  think 
o'  comin'  till  Cap'en  Jollyfax  hev  fired  the  gun." 

The  rector  stared  at  Mrs.  Peck  for  fifteen 
seconds,  passed  his  fingers  once  backward  and 

71 


GREEN    GINGER 


once  forward  through  his  hair,  and  then  without 
a  word  retired  to  the  vestry. 

Roboshobery  Dove  maintained  his  watch,  and 
the  little  crowd  waited  patiently  till  the  shadow 
of  the  dial  over  the  church  porch  lay  well  past 
twelve  o'clock,  and  the  legal  time  for  a  wedding 
was  over.  Then  Cap' en  Jollyfax  hauled  out  his 
silver  watch  and  roared,  though  Roboshobery 
Dove  was  scarce  a  dozen  yards  off:  "Look-out 
ahoy!" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!" 

"Eight  bells !" 

With  that  Roboshobery  Dove  hauled  out  his 
own  watch,  banged  it,  as  usual,  on  the  socket 
of  his  wooden  leg,  clapped  it  against  his  ear,  and 
then  held  it  before  his  eyes.  Finally,  having 
restored  the  watch  to  his  breeches-pocket,  he 
shut  the  telescope,  stood  erect  and  rejoined  his 
principal;  and  the  two  old  sailors  stumped 
off  solemnly  toward  Cap'en  Jollyfax's 
cottage. 

All  that  day  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun  remained 
silent,  and  all  the  next.  The  day  after  that  was 
June  the  first,  on  which  date  Cap'en  Jollyfax 
had  been  wont  to  fire  the  gun  in  celebration  of 
Howe's  victory.  But  this  time  the  Glorious 
First  went  unhonored,  and  it  was  perceived  that 
Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  mighty  stubborn.  Monday, 
the  fourth,  was  Sam  Prentice's  birthday,  but 
Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun  stood  dumb  still. 

Leigh  had  never  before  listened  so  eagerly  for, 

[7.2-    . 


GREEN   GINGER 


a  bang  as  it  listened  now  for  the  report  that 
'should  publish  the  submission  of  Cap^en  Jolly- 
fax;  but  still  the  report  did  not  come.  People 
took  sides,  and  bets  were  made.  It  was  ob- 
served that  Cap'en  Jollyfax  was  grown  peevish 
and  morose,  that  he  shunned  his  friends  and 
moped  at  home. 

1  Mrs.  Billing,  on  the  other  hand,  went  abroad 
as  always,  gay  and  smiling  as  ever.  Cap'en 
Jollyfax  might  do  as  he  pleased,  said  Mrs. 
Billing,  but  she  wasn't  going  to  marry  him  while 
the  charge  remained  in  that  gun.  If  he  chose  to 
fire  it  out — well,  she  might  think  over  the  matter 
again,  but  she  was  none  so  sure  of  even  that, 
now. 

The  days  went  on,  and  Cap'en  Jollyfax's 
friends  grew  concerned  for  him.  He  was  ob- 
istinate  enough,  but  brooding,  it  was  plain.  Robo- 
shobery  Dove,  with  much  ingenuity,  sought  to 
convince  him  that  by  persisting  in  his  deter- 
mination he  was  defeating  himself,  since  there 
was  now  an  end  of  gim-fire  altogether.  Cap'en 
Jollyfax  thought  a  little  over  that  aspect  of  the 
case,  but  did  not  fire  the  gun.  It  was  thought, 
however,  that  he  could  scarce  hold  out  much 
longer.  He  was  said  to  have  been  seen  one 
afternoon  stealthily  rubbing  over  the  gun  and 
renewing  the  priming. 

!  A  fortnight  went,  and  with  June  the  eigh- 
teenth everybody  expected  to  see  an  end  of  the 

73 


GREEN    GINGER 


business;  for  in  truth  Waterloo  day  would  have 
made  the  best  excuse  of  the  year.  But  for  the 
first  time  since  Cap'en  Jollyfax  came  to  the  cot- 
tage Waterloo  day  passed  unsaluted.  People 
wondered  and  shook  their  heads;  surely  it 
couldn't  last  much  longer? 

And  indeed  it  did  not.  There  was  another 
silent  day,  and  then  in  the  dead  of  night  of  the 
nineteenth,  Leigh  was  startled  once  more  by  the 
bang  of  Cap'en  Jollyfax's  gun.  Louder  and 
sharper  than  ever  it  rang  in  the  still  of  the  night, 
and  folk  jumped  upright  in  their  beds  at  the 
shock.  Heads  pushed  out  from  latticed  case- 
ments in  Leigh  High  Street,  and  conversation 
passed  between  opposite  gables. 

"Did  'ee  hear?  'Twere  up  at  Cap'en  Jolly- 
fax's!" 

"Hear?  I'd  think  so!  Cap'en  Jollyfax  hev 
fired  the  gun!" 

And  so  word  passed  all  through  Leigh  and 
about  on  the  moment,  within  house  and  out  of 
window:  "Cap'en  Jollyfax  hev  fired  the  gun! 
Cap'en  Jollyfax  hev  fired  the  gun !" 

But  in  fact  no  sleeper  in  all  Leigh  bounced 
higher  in  his  bed  than  Cap'en  Jollyfax  himself; 
and  that  for  good  reason,  for  the  gun  was  almost 
under  his  bedroom  window. 

The  gun!  It  was  the  gun!  Somebody 
had  fired  it!  Those  boys — those  rascal  boys, 
rapscallion  boys,  cheeky  boys,  plaguey,  villainous 

74 


GREEN    GINGER 


accursed,  infernal  boys !  Cap'en  Jollyfax  fell 
into  a  pair  •■d^f  trousers  and  downstairs  in  one 
complicated  gymnastic,  and  burst  into  the  gar- 
den under  the  thin  light  of  a  clouded  moon. 
There  stood  the  gun,  uncovered,  and  there  by 
its  side  lay  the.  tarpaulin — no,  not  the  tarpaulin, 
it  would  seem,  but  a  human  figure;  a  woman  in  a 
swoon. 

Cap'en  Jollyfax  turned  her  over  and  stared 
close  down  into  her  face.  "Why!"  he  cried, 
"Polly!     Polly!    What's  this?" 

With  that  her  eyes  opened.  "Be  that  you, 
John?"  she  said.  "I  den't  count  'twould  go 
off  that  fearful  sudden!" 


75 


SNORKEY  TIMMS,  HIS  MARKS 

THIS  Is  another  tale  of  Snorkey  Timms, 
the  disreputable  acquaintance  of  whom 
I  have  written  in  other  places.  It  is  now 
years  since  I  saw  Snorkey,  and  I  never  had  the 
faintest  excuse  for  such  an  acquaintanceship, 
except  that  he  was  an  amusing  scoundrel  and  full 
of  information  that  cannot  be  derived  from  any 
person  of  the  smallest  respectability. 

It  was  at  a  time  long  after  Snorkey's  adven- 
ture with  the  bags  of  bricks  at  Liverpool  Street, 
of  which  I  have  told  elsewhere,  after  he  had  told 
it  me  in  a  faro-house  at  Whitechapel;  the  time, 
in  fact,  was  when  the  banker  at  that  same  faro- 
table  was  the  envy  of  Snorkey's  soul  and  his 
Ideal  of  sublunary  good  fortune.  From  Snor- 
key's point  of  view.  Indeed,  there  was  reason. 
Snorkey  was  a  mere  Cockney  picker-up  of  trifles 
— and  other  things — that  were  not  too  carefully 
watched;  Mr.  Issy  Marks  during  the  day  was  a 
wholesale  merchant  with  a  fancy-goods  ware- 
house in  a  little  turning  out  of  Houndsditch,  and 
in  the  evening  he  sat  at  the  receipt  of  custom  at 
the  faro-den,  the  only  man  at  the  table  who 
always  won.  Indeed,  he  paid  the  proprietor 
fifteen  shillings  an  hour  for  the  privilege  of 

^6 


GREEN    GINGER 


sitting  banker,  and  made  a  very  handsome  thing 
of  it  on  the  top  of  that.  Why  Snorkey  and 
others  like  him  should  have  persisted  in  con- 
tributing nightly  to  Mr.  Issy  Marks'  income  was 
not  a  question  easily  to  be  resolved  by  the  im- 
partial observer;  the  language  wherewith  they 
signalized  their  regular  losses  wholly  precluded 
the  supposition  that  they  did  it  out  of  sheer 
benevolence  to  Mr.  Marks.  Yet  they  were  far 
from  being  fools  in  the  ordinary  sense,  and,  in 
fact,  were  rather  apt  to  pride  themselves  on  their 
general  knowingness;  still  they  came,  stood  be- 
fore the  eight  squares  chalked  on  the  table,  saw 
their  stakes  decrease  and  vanish  by  a  system 
which  plainly  and  obviously  must  benefit  the 
banker  all  through  and  nobody  else,  went  away 
poor  and  angry,  and  came  again  the  next  night 
and  all  the  nights  after  that  to  lose  more  money. 
There  was  no  reason  in  it,  but  there  was  the 
phenomenon,  and  Mr.  Marks  did  very  well  out 
of  It,  as  did  many  another  "banker"  in  many 
another  gambling-house  in  those  parts. 

For  this,  and  for  the  presumed  wealth  in  the 
fancy-goods  business,  Mr.  Issy  Marks  was  re- 
garded with  much  envy.  The  business  had  its 
place  in  a  humpbacked  little  old  house  that  stood 
uncomfortably  shouldered  and  squeezed  between 
two  larger  buildings,  not  so  old  but  quite  as 
dirty,  in  a  rather  grimy  little  street  that  led  from 
Houndsditch  to  some  undiscovered  region  be- 

77 


GREEN    GINGER 


yond.  There  were  scores  of  such  places  there- 
about, with  huddled  little  thick-framed  windows, 
wherein  flashy  cheap  china  ornaments,  framed 
oleographs,  combs  on  cards  of  a  dozen,  shell 
covered  boxes,  brushes,  sponges,  and  a  hundred 
such  things  tumbled  loose  among  cardboard 
boxes.  These  establishments  were  the  small 
wholesale  concerns  which  supplied  still  smaller 
retail  shops  in  the  eastern  and  southern  suburbs. 
There  were  bigger  houses  among  them  than  Mr. 
Marks's,  and  busier;  but  his  had  the  reputation 
— at  least  among  his  humble  admirers — of 
carrying  a  solid  trade  of  the  sort  called  "snug." 
Now  it  was  the  quaint  and  interesting  custom 
of  Snorkey  and  all  his  friends  of  like  habits,  to 
inspect  very  often,  and  with  loving  care,  the 
premises  of  prosperous  persons  who  aroused 
their  respect  and  envy  as  Mr.  Marks  had  done 
Snorkey's.  They  counted  the  windows  and 
speculated  on  the  probable  interior  fastenings 
of  doors.  They  peeped  through  keyholes  un- 
observed, affectionately  patted  shutters,  and 
groped  inquiringly  about  their  Iron  fastenings. 
Their  kindly  interest  even  extended  to  the  houses 
adjoining,  the  roofs,  ladders,  trapdoors,  and 
possible  means  of  intercommunication.  They 
have  been  known  to  stand  in  cold  streets  for 
hours  watching  the  lights  on  the  window-blinds 
that  screened  the  objects  of  their  solicitude,  and 
even  the  most  careless  of  them  never  omitted  to 


78 


GREEN    GINGER 


make  sympathetic,  if  unostentatious,  inquiries  as 
to  the  comings  and  goings  of  the  inmates,  and 
the  exact  positions  of  their  sleeping  apartments. 

Snorkey,  therefore,  was  aware  that  Mr.  Issy 
Marks'  warehouse  was  locked  up  and  left  to 
itself  at  night.  He  knew  also  that  the  back 
of  the  place  could  be  reached  from  a  paved  alley 
by  the  scaling  of  an  easy  wall;  that  packing- 
cases  littered  the  back  yard;  and  that  any 
person  standing  on  one  or  two  of  the  largest 
could  reach  a  window  that  was  not  barred.  Such 
things  as  these  were  always  among  the  first 
noticed  by  Snorkey  in  any  house  in  which  he 
took  an  intelligent  interest.  And  as  regards 
this  particular  house,  observation  had  taught 
him  other  things  also.  For  instance,  although 
the  stock  generally  was  not  of  a  costly  descrip- 
tion, there  was  a  good  deal  of  cheap,  thin,  showy 
silver,  which  would  melt  down  just  as  well  as 
the  same  metal  in  heavier  and  more  expensively 
finished  pieces.  There. was  a  little  safe  in  the 
back  room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  there  was 
all  the  possibility  of  a  little  jewellery.  On  the 
whole  Snorkey  decided  that  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Mr.  Marks'  warehouse  and  must  take  an 
early  opportunity  to  scrape  a  closer  acquaintance. 

The  opportunity,  in  fact,  seemed  to  be  occur- 
ring every  night;  so  that  between  the  moment 
when  Snorkey  fully  realized  the  state  of  his 
affections  and  the  evening  on  which  he  seized 


79 


GREEN    GINGER 


his     opportunity     very     few     hours     elapsed. 

It  was  Mr.  Marks's  habit  to  bolt  and  bar  his 
warehouse  at  seven  each  evening,  and  bid  it  and 
its  business  farewell  till  the  next  morning;  for 
he  lived  at  Mile  End.  On  the  evening  of 
Snorkey's  venture  he  left  as  usual,  and  Snorkey, 
from  a  convenient  entry,  saw  him  go.  So  much 
being  ascertained,  the  adventurer  loitered  for  an 
hour  amid  the  society  of  the  Three  Tuns,  and 
then  leisurely  took  his  way  to  the  faro  "club." 

This  place  was  reached  by  way  of  an  innocent- 
looking  door,  with  a  very  respectable  electric 
bell,  at  the  end  of  a  little  court  of  newly  built 
offices  and  shops.  If  you  were  known,  the  door 
instantly  opened  to  your  ring;  if  you  were  not, 
you  might  ring  the  battery  down  without  effect. 
That  was  because  the  door-keeper  sat  on  a  pair 
of  steps  within,  with  his  eye  near  the  fanlight. 
Snorkey  Timms  was  no  stranger,  and  with  no 
more  delay  than  sufficed  for  the  silent  opening 
and  closing  of  the  door,  and  a  careful  groping 
through  a  long  passage,  he  emerged  into  the 
light  and  noise  of  the  gaming-room.  Mr.  Marks 
was  there  as  usual,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
his  hat  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  eyes  on 
the  cards  he  was  shuffling  and  dealing  on  the 
table  before  him.  An  eager  little  crowd  was 
clubbed  thickly  round  the  other  three  sides  of  the 
table,  the  rear  rank  climbing  on  the  backs  of  the 
ranks  before  them,  every  man  with  his  hand 

80 


GREEN    GINGER 


thrust  out  to  its  fullest  reach,  following  the 
fortunes  of  his  stake  where  it  lay  on  the  chalked 
diagram,  and  eager  to  snatch  at  the  winnings 
that  came  so  sparsely. 

Snorkey  staked  a  shilling,  partly  because  he 
was  always  ready  to  gamble,  and  partly  because, 
in  view  of  the  possible  events  of  the  night,  it  was 
not  "the  game"  to  make  himself  conspicuous  by 
a  change  in  his  usual  habit  on  this  particular 
evening.  The  shilling  went  into  Mr,  Marks's 
heap,  followed  quickly  by  another,  and  two 
more,  and  some  others  after  that. 

"Banker's  'avin'  all  the  luck  again,"  remarked 
a  friend  to  Snorkey.  "Turns  up  the  card  with 
the  most  agin  it  every  time,  an'  'e's  halved  stakes 
eight  times  since  I  come  in." 

Snorkey  tried  a  double  chance  with  two  shil- 
lings, and  lost  them  in  successive  turns. 

"No  good — it's  givin'  'im  yer  money  to- 
night," remarked  the  friend,  "There's  a  chap 
over  here's  bin  puttin'  down  half  quids  an'  quids, 
and  never  savin'  a  stake.  Marks's  luck's  in  to- 
night." 

As  a  fact,  the  banker's  luck  always  is  in  at 
faro,  but  to-night  it  was  favoring  him  so  well 
that  even  the  punters  noticed  it;  and  punters  at 
faro  must  either  be  blind  in  general  to  the  bank- 
er's luck  or  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  As  his 
loose  silver  dwindled  and  Mr,  Marks's  heap  of 
money  rose,  Snorkey  grew  the  more  resolved  on 

8i 


GREEN    GINGER 


his  project  for  the  night,  and  more  and  more 
persuaded  that  his  claim  on  the  Marks  estate  was 
a  justifiable  and,  indeed,  almost  a  legal  one. 

He  stayed  about  the  faro-table  till  near  eleven, 
and  then  sauntered  quietly  out.  It  was  scarce 
more  than  five  minutes'  walk  to  the  house  by 
Houndsditch,  and  the  street,  the  warehouse,  and 
the  alley  behind  were  all  quiet  and  dark.  But 
there  was  a  light  in  a  top  window  in  the  house 
to  the  left  of  Marks's,  and,  as  Snorkey  had  the 
whole  night  before  him  for  his  adventure,  he 
waited  and  took  a  turn  about  the  streets  to  kill 
time. 

When  he  returned  it  was  nearer  twelve  than 
eleven  and  the  lodger  in  the  next  house  was  in 
bed.  Snorkey  wasted  no  more  time,  but  hurried 
into  the  paved  alley  and  scaled  the  wall, 
i  Mr.  Marks's  back  yard  was  an  uncomfortable 
place  to  traverse  by  night,  short  as  the  distance 
was;  for  unseen  boxes  and  cases  met  the  shins 
and  knuckles  of  the  explorer,  and,  while  the 
quietest  possible  progress  involved  some  amount 
of  noise,  there  was  always  the  danger  of  knock- 
ing over  something  with  a  thunderous  clatter. 
j  Snorkey  was  cautious  and  slow,  for  there  was 
no  need  to  hurry.  He  reached  the  wall  of  the 
house  and  stood  to  listen.  It  was  a  still  night — 
too  still  for  such  an  enterprise  as  Snorkey's; 
small  sounds  were  very  clear.  But  then  if  every 
burglar  refused  to  work  except  in  perfect  condi- 

82 


GREEN    GINGER 


tions,  the  whole  industry  would  come  to  a  stand- 
still. 

There  was  no  sound  to  cause  uneasiness. 
There  was  the  tread  of  a  policeman,  of  course, 
but  that  was  reassuring.  It  is  a  pleasant  sound 
in  the  ear  of  a  burglar,  audible  for  an  enormous 
distance,  giving  him  confidence ;  when  he  cannot 
hear  it  he  is  never  sure  that  the  policeman  isn't 
watching  him.  This  friendly  sound  came  from 
Houndsditch  harmoniously  beating  time  for  the 
now  subdued  hum  of  London.  The  sky  was 
clear  and  cloudless  above,  though  dark;  and  a 
few  stars  looked  down  on  Snorkey's  experiment 
and  winked  encouragingly. 

It  is  not  easy  to  set  one  rough  packing-case 
firmly  on  another,  on  a  dark  night,  without 
■noise;  and  when  you  have  done  it,  even  with 
a  little  noise,  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  climb 
on  the  top  cas€  without  a  great  deal  more  noise 
still,  and  more  than  a  chance  of  a  clamorous 
tumble.  But  these  difficulties  were  surmounted, 
and  once  the  window  was  reached,  that  offered 
no  difficulties  at  all.  For  Snorkey  had  brought 
his  tools.  First,  a  catch-'em-allve-oh  paper, 
doubled  inward,  so  as  to  go  safely  in  the  pocket. 
This,  being  carefully  opened  out,  was  spread 
over  the  pane  nearest  the  sash  fastening  and 
smacked  in  the  middle  with  the  flat  hand.  The 
pane  was  abolished,  and  came  away  in  a  hundred 
fragments,  all  sticking  to  the  paper,  and  all  quiet. 

?3 


GREEN    GINGER 


Then  it  needed  but  the  insertion  of  a  hand  to 
open  the  catch,  and  the  window  was  conquered. 

Snorkey  climbed  in,  shut  the  window  quietly, 
and  pulled  down  the  blind — a  thing  that  Mr. 
Marks  had  neglected.  Then  he  produced  some 
more  tools.  First,  a  lantern  made  of  nothing 
but  a  little  tin  box  with  a  stump  of  candle  in  it, 
so  that  light  was  only  thrown  where  it  was 
needed,  and  a  puff  would  quench  it. 

Now  when  the  scrap  of  candle  was  lit,  the 
first  thing  revealed  to  his  sight  was  not  at  all 
what  Snorkey  was  looking  for.  It  was,  in  fact, 
a  heap  of  shavings  on  the  floor — wet  shavings. 
It  was  partly  under  a  table  which  was  piled 
above  with  cardboard  boxes,  many  of  them 
broken.  The  boxes  seemed  damp,  too,  and  when 
Snorkey  approached  to  examine  them  he  grew 
aware  of  a  distinct  smell  of  paraflin  oil.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  boxes,  it  would  seem,  but 
more  shavings ;  and  paper — also  wet.  Snorkey's 
eyebrows  lifted  and  his  lips  pursed.  But  he 
saved  the  whistle  for  a  future  occasion. 

He  looked  about  the  room.  The  walls  were 
lined  with  shelves  and  stacked  with  boxes,  but 
there  seemed  very  little  in  the  boxes.  Mr.  Marks 
appeared  to  be  stocking  a  deal  of  straw  and  dirty 
paper.  Also  shavings,  again.  But  there  was 
one  box  of  hair-brushes  which  much  interested 
Snorkey.  He  knew  that  Marks  sold  many  of 
these  cheap,  silver-backed  hair-brushes  whereof 

84 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  silver  covering  behind,  thin  as  paper,  was 
stamped  into  much  highly  relieved  ornament, 
with  a  view  to  a  spurious  massiveness  of  ap- 
pearance; and  he  had  designed  to  rip  off  those 
silver  backs  with  a  jack-knife  and  roll  them  up 
for  easier  transport.  Well,  here  were  the  very 
brushes.  But  the  silver  backs  had  been  ripped 
off  already! 

Snorkey  dropped  the  lid  on  the  box  and  saved 
up  another  whistle.  Then  he  went  out  on  the 
landing  (where  there  were  more  shavings)  and 
down  the  narrow  stairs  almost  into  another  heap 
of  shavings  at  the  bottom.  He  made  straight 
for  the  little  safe,  pulling  from  his  inner  coat 
pocket  as  he  went  the  "stick,"  whose  Christian 
name  is  James  or  Jemmy. 

It  was  an  elegant  little  weapon,  with  a  fine 
chisel  end,  and  he  began  by  thrusting  that  chisel 
end  In  the  crack  of  the  door  near  the  top.  There 
are  some  of  these  cheap  safes  from  which  you 
may  tear  off  the  outer  plate  of  the  door  in  this 
very  elementary  way.  This,  however,  did  not 
seem  to  be  one  of  them,  for  the  immediate  result 
was  nothing  but  the  breaking  of  a  fragment  from 
the  point  of  the  "James." 

Snorkey  gazed  ruefully  at  the  broken  point — 
for  the  tool  was  a  borrowed  one — and  then  gave 
a  twist  to  the  cross  handle  in  the  middle  of  the 
door.    The  safe  was  unlocked ! 

The  door  swung  open  and  disclosed  account- 

85 


GREEN    GINGER 


books  and  nothing  else.  At  the  bottom  were 
two  little  drawers,  which  were  certainly  locked, 
but  came  open  with  bent  fronts  at  the  first 
wrench  of  the  "stick."    They  were  empty. 

Snorkey  looked  round  the  room  and  shook 
his  head  despondently.  There  was  a  perfect 
wealth  of  common  shell  boxes  and  cheap  sponges 
here,  but  that  was  not  the  sort  of  wealth  he  had 
come  for.  The  room  also  had  Its  heap  of  shav- 
ings, piled  against  a  stack  of  shell  boxes,  and  a 
three-gallon  can  of  paraffin  oil  stood  near  it. 

He  entered  the  shop  very  quietly,  for  now  he 
might  be  heard  from  the  street.  The  stock  he 
disregarded,  but  tried  the  till.  It  contained  not 
so  much  as  a  button.  Clearly  this  was  not  the 
venture  Snorkey  had  looked  for.  He  shook  his 
head  again  and  returned  to  the  back  room.  Then 
he  very  deliberately  pocketed  his  tools,  blew  out 
his  candle-light,  and  sat  on  the  stairs  to  wait 
for  Mr.  Marks.  For  he  had  seen  things  that 
made  him  expect  him. 

It  was  very  quiet,  and  more  than  a  little  dull. 
But  presently  the  humor  of  the  situation  so 
presented  itself  to  Snorkey  that  the  silence  was 
broken  by  a  chuckle,  which  grew  Into  something 
rather  like  a  snigger.  Mr.  Marks  would  find  an 
unexpected  card  had  turned  up,  this  deal ! 

The  church  clocks  began  to  strike  twelve, 
some  near,  some  far,  and  presently  St.  Botolph's, 
clanging  loud  and  close.     In  the  midst  of  the 

86 


GREEN    GINGER 


strokes  there  was  a  thump  at  the  front  door. 
Startling  for  the  moment,  but  only  a  policeman 
testing  the  fastenings.  His  receding  tramp  was 
quite  clear,  now  that  the  clocks  had  ceased  to 
strike. 

Mr.  Marks  was  very  slow,  and  more  than 
once  Snorkey  was  in  danger  of  falling  asleep. 
He  was  listening  for  the  stroke  of  one,  and 
wondering  if  he  might  already  have  missed  it 
by  dozing,  when  at  last  there  came  the  expected 
click  in  the  lock,  and  with  extraordinary  sudden- 
ness Marks  was  in  the  shop  with  the  door  closed 
behind  him.  Plainly  he  must  have  been  watching 
his  opportunity,  and  had  reached  the  door  and 
turned  the  familiar  lock  swiftly  and  quietly. 
And  in  another  moment  he  was  groping  in  the 
back  room,  within  two  yards  of  his  visitor. 

Snorkey  felt  for  his  matches  and  his  lantern; 
but  as  he  did  so  a  match  was  struck  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  revealed  Marks  in  the 
act  of  lighting  a  lantern  of  his  own.  Snorkey 
waited  till  the  flame  was  well  established  and 
the  lantern  closed,  and  then  said  cheerfully: 
"Ah!  good  mornin',  Mr.  Marks!" 

With  a  bounce  and  a  faint  yelp  Mr.  Marks 
sprang  back  against  a  pile  of  boxes,  livid  and 
gasping,  with  a  terrified  whimper  in  his  throat. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Marks  !  Don't  jump  !  It's 
only  me!  Quite  a  old  friend!"  And  Snorkey 
lifted  the  lantern  and  held  it  by  the  side  of  his 

87 


GREEN    GINGER 


face,  whereon  flickered  something  vastly  like  a 
grin. 

"Vat  d'you — d'you  vant?"  gasped  Marks, 
panting  with  the  shock.     "Vat  d'you  vant?" 

"Want  to  give  meself  up,"  answered  Snorkey 
crisply.  "Burglary — ^breakin'  an'  enterin' ; — 
I'm  a  'orrid  criminal.     I  broke  in." 

Marks  gulped  twice  before  he  got  a  word  out. 
"You  broke  in?"  he  repeated. 

"Burglariously  busted  your  back  window,  an' 
been  waitin'  'ere  about  an  hour  an'  a  'alf  to 
confess.     I've  repented." 

*'You— you— vat?" 

"I've  repented.  Anybody  would  as  didn't 
come  for  shavings.  If  I'd  wanted  shavings  I'd 
ha'  made  a  good  stroke  o'  business  to-night; 
shavings  or  waste  paper,  or  paraffin.  Not 
wantin'  'em,  I've  repented.     Lock  me  up." 

Mr.  Marksclapped  his  hand  distractedly tothe 
side  of  his  head.    "You  go — go  avay!"  he  said. 

Snorkey  shook  his  head,  put  down  the  lantern, 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  "Couldn't 
think  of  it,"  he  said.  "Couldn't  think  o'  goin' 
away  now,  after  all  the  wickedness  I've  com- 
mitted. My  conscience  wouldn't  stand  it.  You 
fetch  the  p'lice  an'  'ave  me  punished  proper." 

Mr.  Marks  looked  up  and  down  the  room 
and  towards  the  shop  and  up  the  stairs,  thought- 
fully. The  shock  of  surprise  was  passing, 
like  me;  anyhow,  it  seems  a  bit  'ard  this  time,. 

88 


GREEN    GINGER 


to    be    succeeded    by    a    desperate    perplexity. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  length.  "I  don't  vant 
to  punish  you.    You  can  go." 

"No,  no,"  Snorkey  replied  cordially.  "Don't 
you  let  your  feelin's  get  worked  on,  Mr.  Marks. 
You  dunno  what  a  'orrid  chap  I've  bin.  O' 
course,  I've  repented  now,  but  that  was  only  'cos 
of  the  shavings.  You  can't  rightly  count  a  re- 
pentance 'cos  of  shavings — not  by  the  proper 
rules." 

"Go  along,"  answered  Marks,  with  a  furtive 
lowering  of  voice.  "I  tell  you  I  von't  say 
noddin'  about  it.     Ve  understand  each  other." 

Snorkey  shook  his  head.  "I  doubt  it,  Mr. 
Marks,"  he  sighed.  "It  ain't  easy  for  a  gent 
like  you  to  understand  a  thorough  wrong  'un 
like  me;  anyhow,  it  seems  a  bit  'ard  this  time. 
You  don't  mean  to  say  you  forgive  me — goin' 
to  take  mercy  on  me?" 

"Yes.    Goon." 

"Mr.  Marks,  you're  a  nobleman.  I'm  willin' 
enough.  I  can  be  took  mercy  on,  on  very 
reasonable  terms.  My  little — er — commission, 
as  you  might  say,  for  bein'  forgiven,  ought  to  be 
about  fifty  quid,  I  should  say,  this  time." 

"Vat?" 

"Fifty  quid,  I  said.  You  see,  it  wants  rather 
a  lot  o'  forgiveness  for  a  burglary  as  wicked  as 
this.  The  drawers  in  your  safe's  all  bent  any- 
how, an'  your  first-floor  back  window's  quite 
shockin'." 


GREEN    GINGER 


"You've  got  a  fine  cheek,"  snarled  Mr. 
Marks,  by  this  time  much  recovered.  "Vy  you 
expect  me  to  pay  anyting?  You're  lucky  not  to 
be  took  up!" 

"What  I  said  meself!"  replied  Snorkey. 
"Fetch  the  p'lice.  Or  I'll  go  an'  fetch  'em  if 
you  like." 

"No,  no!  But  fifty  quid's  ridic'luth!  Be- 
sides, I  got  no  money  here  !" 

"All  right;  I'll  wait  here  for  it  till  the  mornin'. 
It's  warmer  'ere  than  out  in  the  cold  unfeelin' 
streets." 

"No,  no !  You  must  go !  Now,  come,  be  rea- 
thonable,  Mr.  Thnorkey.  I'll  see  you  to-mor- 
row an'  make  it  all  right.  Tholemn  vord  I  vill !" 

Snorkey  winked,  and  shook  his  head  inexor- 
ably. "You  don't  understand  the  wicked  feelin's 
of  a  'ardened  criminal,  Mr.  Marks.  D'ye  know, 
I'm  sunk  that  low  I  wouldn't  take  your  word  for 
it !     I  wouldn't !    Shockin',  ain't  it  ?" 

"But  fifty's  out  o'  reathon!     It'th  abthurd!" 

"Well,  beat  me  down,  Mr.  Marks.  Offer  me 
forty." 

"No,  no — ridic'luth.  I've  got  a  quid  vid  me; 
p'r'aps  thirty  bob." 

"Ridic'lous,  too,  ain't  It?  Why,  I've  broke 
the  point  of  a  tool  as  is  worth  as  much  as  that. 
And  if  I  'adn't  turned  up,  the  place  might  'a' 
bin  afire!  It  might,  the  dangerous  way  things 
like  paraffin  is  left  about!  It  might  'a'  broke 
out  any  minute  if  it  'adn't  'bin  for  me." 

90 


GREEN    GINGER 


"I'll  give  ye  five  quid,  come  !" 

"Can't  be  done  at  the  price.  My  conscience 
won't  allow  it;  it's  a  special  good  conscience,  is 
mine  !    It  comes  a  lot  dearer  than  that." 

"But  ven  I've  got  no  more,  vat  can  I  do?" 

"Just  now  you  'adn't  got  no  more  than  thirty 
bob;  now  it's  growed  to  five  quid.  If  I  stop 
'ere  you'll  be  a  millionaire  by  the  mornin',  Mr. 
Marks,  Exquire,  an'  all  through  me.     I'll  stop." 

"No,  no;  be  a  thport,  Mr.  Thnorkey,  an'  give 
a  man  a  chance.   Vat'll  you  take — reathonable?" 

"Ah,  you  see  it's  growed  a  bit  more  a'ready. 
I  said  it  would.  You'd  better  let  me  stop,  for 
your  own  sake.  But  if  you'd  really  rather  not, 
why,  I  think  I  can  make  a  better  guess  at  what 
you've  got  on  you  than  you  can  yourself.  If 
you've  got  five  quid,  an'  a  bit  more,  on  ye  it 
means  you  'aven't  took  your  winnin's  home  from 
the  club  yet.  You  always  change  the  silver  afore 
you  come  away,  I  know.  I  guess  twenty  quid. 
If  there's  more — ^why,  you  can  keep  it  for  your 
honesty.     But  that's  my  charge — ab-so!" 

Time  was  going,  and  as  a  fact  the  sum  in  Mr. 
Mark's  pockets  was  well  above  his  tormentor's 
estimate.  He  thought  for  a  moment,  looked 
into  Snorkey's  eyes  with  a  gaze  of  agonized 
reproach,  turned  his  back,  and  counted  out  the 
money  in  gold.  Then  he  turned  again  with  a 
sigh  and  paid  it  over. 

"He  seemed  quite  out  o'  temper  payin'  over 
that  little  bit,"  Snorkey  said,  long  afterward, 

9}_ 


GREEN    GINGER 


relating  the  adventure.  "Quite  rusty  'e  was. 
'Adn't  got  what  you  might  call  a  sense  of  'umor, 
I  s'pose.  Some  people  ain't.  But  I  told  'im 
very  cheerful  to  be  careful  about  strikin'  matches 
an'  such,  with  all  them  com — combustious  things 
about,  an'  I  come  away. 

"I  come  down  the  street,  an'  turned  into 
Houndsditch,  an'  there  what  should  I  see  but 
a  fire-alarm  post.  You  know  where  it  is — just 
at  the  corner.  Well,  you  know,  I  felt  a  bit 
nervous  about  Mr.  Marks.  It  was  a  dangerous 
kind  o'  place  for  anybody  to  be  about  in  with 
a  light,  an'  somehow  I  'ad  a  'orrid  sort  o'  pre- 
sentiment that  the  'ouse  might  catch  afire  after 
all.  You  know  the  way  one  o'  them  presenti- 
ments gets  'old  of  you,  sometimes.  Well,  this 
'ere  one  'o  mine  was  that  strong  that  I  took  my 
chance  with  the  alarm.  I  smashed  the  glass,  an' 
I  tugged  the  'andle  till  I  very  near  tugged  it 
out,  an'  then  I  ran  'ome  fast,  'cos  it  was  late. 

"An'  the  most  re-markable  co-in-ddence  about 
the  'ole  thing  was — when  the  fire-engines  got 
round  there,  there  was  a  fire !  There  was,  on 
my  solemn  davy!  Wasn't  it  wonderful?  An' 
Mr.  Marks  got  in  sich  a  muddle  explainin'  'ow 
the  accident  'appened  that  they  gave  him  two 
years  hard!" 


^2 


THE  COPPER  CHARM 

OF  the  relics  of  Cunning  Murrell,  the  wise 
man  of  Essex,  I  have  seen  many,  and  I 
own  some — ^his  books  of  conjuration  and 
geomancy,  scores  of  his  written  horoscopes ;  and 
of  his  actual  implements  of  magic  I  have  seen 
the  famous  glass  by  which  he,  or  anybody  else, 
was  enabled  to  see  through  a  brick  wall.  This 
amazing  instrument  gained  him  vast  considera- 
tion and  authority  among  the  unlearned  of  Essex 
up  to  and  beyond  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  but  matter-of-fact  examination,  at  a 
time  when  Cunning  Murrell  was  altogether  too 
dead  to  prevent  it,  robbed  the  wonder  of  all  its 
mystery.  For  indeed,  it  was  nothing  but  a  sim- 
ple arrangement  of  the  mirrors  in  a  wooden  case, 
such  as  a  schoolboy  might  make  for  himself  with 
a  little  patience  and  the  ruins  of  a  shaving-glass. 
But  it  served  its  turn  well,  and  it  was  by  this  and 
other  such  aids  that  Murrell  became,  and  re- 
mained to  his  life's  end,  something  like  absolute 
sovereign  of  all  Essex  outside  the  great  houses. 
But  there  was  another  instrument,  or  talk  of 
it  at  least,  of  far  stranger  purport.  There  was 
talk  of  it  still,  twenty  years  and  more  after  its 
reputed  possessor  was  gathered  to  his  fathers 

93 


GREEN    GINGER 


and  his  twenty-one  children  in  Hadleigh  church- 
yard. This  was  said  to  be  nothing  less  than  a 
strange  disc  of  dull  copper,  by  aid  whereof 
Cunning  Murrell  could  distinguish  the  true  man 
from  the  liar.  For  the  liar  might  stare  at  It  till 
his  eyes  were  sore,  yet  never  could  he  see  in  it 
anything  but  its  mere  material  self — a  round 
plate  of  common  dull  copper;  while  it  was  the 
peculiar  virtue  of  an  honest  man's  eyes  to  per- 
ceive on  the  dim  surface  something — something 
of  which  only  Cunning  Murrell  had  the  secret; 
something  which  the  gazer  must  declare  to  him 
as  proof  and  test  of  his  truth.  But  of  what  that 
something  was  nobody  could  tell  a  word;  for 
indeed  It  would  seem  that  nobody  had  ever  seen 
it.  And  yet  belief  In  Its  existence  was  wide  as 
Essex;  though  there  has  been  a  suspicion  that  the 
whole  report  was  the  invention  of  that  squinting 
humorist,  Dan  FIsk.  For  he  had  a  deal  to  do 
with  the  only  tale  of  the  charm  I  know. 

In  those  days  Hadleigh  Fair  occurred  once  a 
year,  on  Midsummer  Day.  Rochford  Market 
was  held  once  a  week,  on  Thursday,  On  Roch- 
ford Market  night  the  neighboring  roads  carried 
many  convivial  home-goers  by  horse,  dog-cart 
wagon,  and  foot;  on  Hadleigh  Fair  night  there 
was  far  greater  conviviality  and  many  more  con- 
vivials.  But  when  Hadleigh  Fair  fell  on  the 
same  day  as  Rochford  Market  (as  needs  it  must 
in  some  years)  then  the  resulting  jollity  was  as 

94 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  square  of  Hadleigh  hilarity  plus  the  cube  of 
Rochford  revelry,  involved  to  the  nth  power, 
and  a  great  deal  more  involved  than  that,  too,  if 
you  can  believe  it. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  days  of  joyous  coin- 
cidence that  Abel  Pennyfather  gave  Joe  Barstow 
and  Elijah  Weeley  a  lift  to  Rochford  Market  in 
his  cart,  and  so  made  occasion  for  this  appeal  to 
Murrell's  talisman. 

Hadleigh  Fair  grew  active  at  seven  in  the 
morning;  so  that  there  had  been  seven  hours  of 
it  ere  Abel  Pennyfather's  cart  set  out  at  two  in 
the  afternoon.  Seven  hours  of  Hadleigh  Fair 
and  its  overwhelming  gooseberry  pie  I  For  it  was 
the  gooseberry  pie,  crown  and  symbol  of  Had- 
leigh Fair,  that  made  the  anniversary  formidable 
to  the  human  constitution.  It  was  the  property 
of  this  potent  confection  to  cause  many  with 
whom  it  disagreed  to  fall  asleep  in  ditches,  and 
others  to  penetrate  into  the  wrong  houses  on  all- 
fours.  An  extraordinary  unsteadiness  of  the 
legs,  widely  prevalent  on  fair  day,  had  been  dis- 
tinctly traced  to  gooseberry  pie  by  many  expert 
victims,  and  a  certain  waviness  of  outline  in 
Hadleigh  scenery  could  be  attributed  to  nothing 
else. 

So  that  after  several  hours  of  Hadleigh  Fair, 
and  a  long  monotony  of  gooseberry  pie,  it  struck 
Joe  Barstow  and  Elijah  Weeley  that  a  visit  to 
Rochford    Market    would    make    a    welcome 


95 


GREEN    GINGER 


change.  Abel  Pennyfather's  cart  offered  the 
opportunity,  and  that  opportunity,  embodied  and 
made  visible  in  the  tailboard,  Joe  Barstow  seized 
with  both  hands;  after  which,  with  no  difficulty 
beyond  the  temporary  delay  caused  by  Elijah 
Weeley's  mistaken  attempt  to  haul  himself 
aboard  by  Joe's  leg,  the  journey  began. 

Of  the  events  of  that  journey,  the  "faites  and 
gestes"  of  Joe  and  Elijah  at  Rochford  Market, 
who  shall  tell  ?  Pass  rather  to  the  return  of  Abel 
Pennyfather,  light  laden  and  heedless,  driving 
his  white  mare  as  of  old  drove  the  son  of  Je- 
hoshaphat,  the  son  of  Nimshi,  pounding  the 
road  to  Hadleigh  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and 
destined  to  make  near  such  a  stir  at  the  Castle 
Inn  as  did  his  fore-runner  at  Jezreel.  For  at 
that  same  Castle  Inn  he  descended  from  his 
perch,  dropped  the  tailboard,  and  proceeded  in 
due  order  to  tug  at  the  two  sleeping  figures  with- 
in. With  the  natural  protest  of  grunts  and  gasps 
the  sleepers  presently  emerged,  and  were  pre- 
sented erect  to  society — in  the  persons  of  Reuben 
Turner  and  young  Sim  Cloyse. 

"What's  this?"  cried  Abel  Pennyfather, 
staring  aghast.  "  'Tis  witchcraft,  an'  nothin' 
else!  They  was  Joe  Barstow  an'  'Lijah  Weeley 
when  they  got  in;  an'  that  I'll  swear  'pon  oath!" 

Friends  gathered  to  inspect  the  phenomenon, 
and  agreed  that  Reuben  Turner  and  Sim  Cloyse 
were  certainly  Reuben  and  Sim  now,  whoever 

96 


GREEN    GINGER 


they  may  have  been  earlier  in  the  day.  And, 
although  Abel  protested  with  increasing  vehe- 
mence that  they  were  indisputably  Joe  and  Elijah 
when  he  put  them  in  the  cart  at  Rochford,  Reu- 
ben and  Sim  declared,  with  equal  confidence,  that 
they  had  never  been  anybody  but  themselves  all 
day.  Wherein  the  neighbors  were  disposed  to 
agree  with  them,  arguing  that  a  man  who  had 
been  some  one  else  would  probably  be  the  first 
to  know  it  and  the  last  to  be  mistaken  about  it. 
But  the  greater  the  majority  against  him  the 
more  positive  Abel  Pennyfather  grew;  and  the 
discussion  waxed  prodigiously  for  a  time,  till 
there  arrived  Jobson  of  Wickford,  very  angry, 
and  many  miles  out  of  his  way  home,  driving  his 
own  horse  in  the  shafts  of  Abel  Pennyfather's 
cart,  with  Joe  Barstow  and  Elijah  Weeley  in  it; 
neither  of  them,  strictly  speaking,  awake,  after 
the  fatigues  of  the  day. 

"Couldn't  you  see  they'd  putt  the  'osses  to 
the  wrong  carts?"  shouted  Jobson  to  the  amazed 
Pennyfather.  "I've  a-been  chasing  yow  arl  the 
way  from  Rochford!" 

"Glory  be!"  gasped  Abel,  "an'  so  they  hev! 
Now  that  comes  o'  standin'  they  two  carts  side 
by  side  on  sich  a  troublesome  confusin'  day.  I 
putt  them  chaps  in  behind  in  my  cart  and  I 
walked  round  they  two  carts  twice,  careful  and 
absent-minded  as  I  be,  afore  I  stopped  agin  my 
cad  white  mare.    'Come  up,  oad  gal,'  says  I,  an' 

97 


GREEN    GINGER 


I  took  the  reins  off  her  an'  got  up  an'  druv  home 
without  another  thought." 

"No,"  retorted  Jobson  of  Wickford,  still  very 
angry.  "I  count  a  thought  ain't  a  treat  you 
often  hev.  Can't  you  help  with  the  harness  now 
I  hev  found  'ee?" 

But  the  most  of  the  intelligence  present  was 
in  a  state  of  suspension,  not  to  say  paralysis,  in 
face  of  the  novelty  of  the  adventure;  soaring, 
at  any  rate,  in  regions  far  from  any  matter  of 
Jobson's  harness.  The  one  or  two  most  dis- 
tinguished for  presence  of  mind  were  turning 
their  faculties  toward  the  rousing  and  hauling 
forth  of  Joe  Barstow  and  Elijah  Weeley,  when 
another  object  was  perceived  in  the  cart. 

"Why,"  said  one,  "here  be  a  gallon  jar.  Is 
is  yourn.  Master  Jobson?" 

"No,"  snapped  Jobson,  wrenching  at  a  buckle, 
"  'taren't.  More  mistakes,  I  count — I've  a-been 
cartin'  a  wuthless  load  as  don't  belong  to  me." 

"Is't  yours,  Abel?"  pursued  the  inquirer. 

"No,  that  it  ben't,"  replied  Abel  Pennyfather, 
not  yet  capable  of  sagacious  reflection.  It  was 
an  answer  which  he  never  ceased  to  regret  for 
the  rest  of  his  life;  for  as  Joe  and  Elijah  rose, 
cramped  and  blinking,  Dan  Fisk,  having  re- 
moved the  cork  and  temporarily  substituted  his 
nose,  cried  aloud:  "Why,  'tis  rum,  surely/" 

At  the  words  Joe  Barstow  and  Elijah  Weeley 
were  suddenly  wide  awake,  ready,  prudent,  and 

98 


GREEN    GINGER 


unanimous.  A  hand  of  each  fell  simultaneously 
on  the  jar  as  Dan  restored  the  cork,  and  the 
vessel  was  drawn  to  a  loving  embrace  between 
them.  It  was  a  touching  action,  and  signified 
to  the  dullest  intelligence  that  the  gallon  jar  was 
homeless  no  longer. 

"Thank  'ee,  Joe,"  said  Elijah,  "I'll  take  that 
jar  now." 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Joe;  "I  count  I  can 
carry  it  myself." 

"I  wouldn't  dream  of  it,"  protested  Elijah, 
politely.  "My  house  Is  only  jist  round  the  cor- 
ner." 

"I  ain't  goin'  there,"  retorted  Joe,  not  so 
politely. 

"No  need,  me  bein'  goin'  to  take  it  myself." 

"Take  what  yourself?" 

"My  rum." 

"Your  rum?  Oh  well,  you  can  take  it  where 
you  like,  any  as  you've  got.     This  here's  mine." 

"Yours  ?  Why,  Joe  Barstow,  you  ben't  awake 
yet;  you're  dreaming." 

"I  count  I'm  awake  enough  to  know  my  own 
property.     You  let  go." 

"  'Taren't  likely  I'd  make  a  mistake  about 
my  own  freehold  jar  o'  rum,  is  it,  neighbors?" 
protested  Elijah,  maintaining  his  grip.  "Joe, 
you're  dreaming,  I  tell  'ee." 

"If  I'm  a-dreamin',"  retorted  Joe,  doggedly, 
"then  I'm  a-dreamin'  this  'ere's  my  jar,  an'  the 

99 


GREEN    GINGER 


dream's  comin'  true.  An'  if  a  man  haven't 
a  right  to  the  furnitude  of  his  own  dreams, 
who  hev,  eh?  That's  law  and  logic  too,  I 
count." 

"If  you  come  to  speak  of  the  law,"  interposed 
Abel  Pennyfather,  hoping  to  repair  his  early 
error,  "the  jar  bein'  found  in  my  cart,  an'  me 
that  absent-minded,  I'm  none  so  sure " 

"No,  you  ain't,"  interrupted  Joe,  promptly; 
"but  I  am.  Elijah  an'  me  both  know  better  than 
that.  His  mistake's  sayin'  it's  his,  an'  not 
knowin'  where  he  bought  it!" 

"Bought  it?"  repeated  Elijah,  plainly  a  little 
startled.  "Who  says  I  dunno  where  I  bought  it? 
I  bought  it — I  bought  it — " — he  glanced  widly 
about  him  for  a  moment — "bought  it  at  the 
Red  Cow." 

"You  may  have  bought  a  gallon  o'  rum  at 
the  Red  Cow.  I  ain't  denyin'  it — you  look  as 
though  you  had,  I  count;  but  you  den't  bring 
it  home  in  this  here  jar.  I  got  this — got  this 
here — got  it  from  a  friend — off  the  price  of  a 
pig  he  owed  me  for." 

And  now  Dan  Fisk  interposed,  as  sportsman 
and  humorist,  watchful  to  allow  no  fun  to 
evaporate  unprofitably,  and  eager  to  tend,  stimu- 
late, and  inflame  it  and  to  improve  its  flavor. 
So,  with  his  beaming  red  face  and  his  coruscating 
squint,  he  faced  each  disputant  in  turn,  repre- 
senting the  scandal  of  a  public  row,   and  the 

!I00 


GREEN    GINGER 


advantages  of  a  private  investigation  by  friends 
of  both  parties  in  the  Castle  Inn  parlor. 

Whereupon  Joe  and  Elijah,  with  the  jar  of 
rum  between  them  and  dividing  them,  physically 
and  morally,  Abel  Pennyfather  and  Jobson  of 
Wickford,  Dan  Fisk,  and  several  more,  turned 
into  the  Castle  parlor,  where  Dan  Fisk  opened 
proceedings  by  snatching  the  jar  and  standing  it 
in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"There  be  the  article  in  dispute,"  he  pro- 
claimed, "and  here  be  we  all  a-gathered  round 
it  to  see  fair.  Joe  Barstow  an'  'Lijah  Weeley 
be  the  disputatious  claimants,  an'  to  one  o'  they 
two  'tis  alleged  that  jar  belongs." 

"Hem !"  coughed  Pennyfather,  tentatively. 
"  'Twould  seem  so,  at  fust  sight,  as  you  might 
say;  though  bein'  found  in  my  cart,  an'  me " 

"Joe  Barstow  and  'Lijah  Weeley  be  the 
candidates,"  proceeded  Dan,  ignoring  Abel, 
"both  on  'em  havin'  bought  this  here  jar  o'  rum, 
as  they  distinctly  tell  us  'emselves,  or  as  distinctly 
as  sarcumstances  allow.  'Lijah  Weeley,  he 
bought  it  off  a  red  cow,  and  Joe  Barstow,  he  took 
it  off  a  friendly  pig." 

"Took  it  off  a  friend,"  grunted  Joe,  doggedly 
suspicious. 

"The  pig  were  a  friend  o'  Joe's,"  pursued 
Dan,  "an'  as  to  the  red  cow,  no  doubt " 

"I  said  at  the  Red  Cow,"  interrupted  Elijah, 
sulkily— "Red  Cow  Inn." 

lOI 


GREEN    GINGER 


"O-ho!"  exclaimed  Dan,  turning  ooi  him 
suddenly,  "that  be't,  eh?  Red  Cow  Inn?  An' 
where  be  the  Red  Cow  Inn  at  Rochford,  eh?," 

"Eh?     Rochford?" 

"Ah,  I  don't  call  to  mind  any  Red  Cow  at 
Rochford.    What  Red  Cow?" 

Elijah  Weeley  stared  blankly.  "Maybe  I'm 
thinkin'  o'  somewhere  else,"  he  said,  rubbing 
his  ear  with  his  palm.  "There's  a  Red  Cow  at 
Burnham,  surely." 

"Ah,  but  you  haven't  been  near  Burnham, 
to-day,  you  know.  I'm  beginning  to  doubt  your 
remembrance  o'  that  rum." 

"  'Taren't  his,  I  tell  'ee,"  growled  Joe  Bar- 
stow.     I  took  it  off  a  friend  for  a  pig." 

"Tell  us  the  friend's  name!"  cried  Dan, 
pouncing  on  Joe  with  a  raised  forefinger.  "Out 
with  his  name — quick!" 

Joe  stared  as  blankly  as  Elijah.  "Him?"  he 
said  slowly.  "Oh — that  there  chap — you  know; 
the  one  as — well,  maybe  not  him,  exactly,  so  to 
say,  but  a  relation  of  his.     That's  the  chap." 

"O'course  that's  the  chap — I've  been  a-think- 
in'  o'  that  chap,  myself,"  Dan  pursued,  with  a 
wider  grin.  "But  what's  his  name?  These 
here  genelmen  o'  the  jury  are  that  unfriendly 
suspicious,  they  won't  swallow  the  pig  story 
wi'out  the  chap's  name.    What  is  it?" 

Joe  Barstow  stared  and  sweated  in  an  agony 
of  mental  travail.    "Bill !"  he  burst  out  at  length, 

102 


GREEN    GINGER 


"His  name's  Bill,"  repeated  Dan,  solemnly, 
turning  to  the  company  with  an  airy  gesture  and 
a  bow  of  the  gravest  importance.  "Joe's  friend 
be  the  celebrated  person  o'  the  name  o'  Bill.  A 
party  with  sich  a  name  as  that  wouldn't  bother 
to  hev  another,  I  suppose,  Joe,  would  he?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Joe,  sulkily.  "That  jar's 
mine,  howsomdever;  I  do  remember  that." 

"  'Tis  a  comfort  to  know  It,  for  a  good 
memory's  a  great  blessin'.  Havin'  that  partlkler 
blessin'  by  you,  no  doubt  you  remember  the  pig's 
birthday?  Because  'tis  the  recollection  o'  this 
here  honorable  jury  that  your  last  latter  o'  pigs 
were  all  sold  to  Sam  Prentice  here  in  Hadlelgh." 

"That  jar  o'  rum's  mine,  I  tell  'ee,"  repeated 
Joe,  fiercely  dogged. 

"An'  you  aren't  no  more  sartin  about  the 
pig  than  'Lijah  Weeley  about  the  cow?" 

"I'm  sartin'  'tis  my  rum,"  growled  Joe.  And 
Elijah  Weeley,  gathering  courage,  broke  in 
again. 

"Touchin'  the  Red  Cow,"  he  said,  "that  be 
a  pardonable  mistake  anybody  might  make,  fair 
day  an'  all,  after  a  nap.  An'  now  'tis  brought  to 
my  mind  there  was  a.  pig  in  the  business,  but 
'twere  a  pig  /  bought  at  Rochford  market  this 
very  day.  An'  howsomdever  It  came  about  bein' 
hard  to  explain  at  sich  short  notice,  'taren't  no 
mistake  when  I  say,  in  round  numbers,  that  rum's 
mine," 


103 


GREEN    GINGER 


"S'posin'  that's  so,"  queried  Dan,  "how  would 
you  treat  all  your  friends  here  in  regard  to  that 
rum?" 

■E,lijah  Weeley  glanced  at  the  crowd  about  him 
with  some  uneasiness.  "Oh !"  he  said  airily, 
"I'd  give  a  friend  a  glass,  o'  course." 

"I'd  give  all  my  friends  two  glasses,"  exi 
claimed  Joe,  bidding  like  a  politician,  but  with 
the  wildest  miscalculation  of  the  jar's  capacity. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Elijah.  "When  I  said  a 
glass  I  was  a-puttin'  of  it  figuratively,  as  you 
might  say.     I'd  do  the  han'some  thing,  sure/_y." 

"Then  this  here  trouble's  settled,"  proclaimed 
Dan  Fisk.  "Takin'  it  as  the  jar  belongs  to  either 
one  o'  you,  and  you're  both  ekally  horspitable — 
well,  here's  all  your  mutual  friends,  an'  we've 
on'y  got  to  order  in  the  glasses  and  the  water, 
an'  the  dispute  passes  away  harmonious  along  o' 
the  rum." 

The  rivals  received  this  amiable  proposal  with 
uneasy  indignation,  and  joined  forces  against  it 
instantly. 

"Certainly  not !"  said  Elijah. 

"Not  me!"  said  Joe. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Dan. 

"  'Twouldn't  be  proper,"  said  Elijah. 

"Course  not,"  agreed  Joe. 

"If  I  stood  drinks  out  o'  my  jar,"  explained 
Elijah,  "Joe  Barstow  'ud  go  an'  say  it  was  his 
treat." 


104 


GREEN    GINGER 


"An'  if  I  treated  my  friends  out  o'  my  jar," 
pursued  Joe,  "  'Lijah  Weeley  'ud  go  arl  over 
Essex  a-bragging  as  he'd  stood  drinks  round — a 
thing  he  never  did  in  his  life." 

With  that  the  proceedings  fell  into  riotous 
confusion  and  a  conflict  of  a  hundred  sugges- 
tions, from  which  in  a  little  while  Dan  Fisk  once 
more  emerged  triumphant. 

"There's  nothin'  for  it,  neighbors,"  he  an- 
nounced, "but  Cunning  Murrell.  Cunning 
Murrell  an'  his  copper  charm'll  settle  this.  No- 
body here  can  tell  whether  Joe  or  'Lijah  is  tellin' 
truth,  least  of  all  Joe  and  'Lijah  'emselves,  after 
such  a  busy  fair-day.  We'll  take  'em  now  to 
look  at  Master  Murrell's  copper  charm,  an'  see 
which  be  the  truth-teller." 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  general 
favor,  except,  oddly  enough,  by  the  claimants 
themselves,  who  began,  with  uneasy  alarm  and 
much  labor,  to  invent  the  beginnings  of  objec- 
tions and  excuses.  But  they  and  their  objections 
were  swept  away  together  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  majority,  who — feeling  by  now  some  pro- 
prietary interest  in  the  rum — were  quite  willing 
to  add  the  further  interest  of  a  performance  of 
Murrell's  necromancy,  at  no  expense  to  them- 
selves. Wherefore,  the  whole  company,  with 
Dan  Fisk  and  the  jar  at  their  head,  emerged 
into  the  street,  now  dark,  and  turned  into  the 
lane  where  stood  Cunning  Murrell's  cottage. 

105 


GREEN    GINGER 


The  way  was  short — eighty  yards,  perhaps — 
though  long  enough  to  produce  a  change  in  the 
demeanor  of  the  company,  which,  starting  hilari- 
ous, tailed  out  and  quieted,  and  at  last  halted 
before  Murrell's  door  in  respectful  silence.  For 
that  was  the  manner  of  all  toward  the  witch- 
finder,  and  indeed  a  large  part  of  the  grin  had 
vanished  even  from  Dan  Fisk's  face  as  he  clicked 
the  latch. 

Murrell  himself  opened  the  door,  and  stood, 
small  and  gray  and  severe,  on  the  threshold, 
demanding  the  meaning  of  the  visit.  The 
little  room  behind  him,  lighted  by  a  solitary 
candle  and  hung  thick  with  bunches  of  dried 
herbs,  was  a  fitting  background — the  most 
mysterious  chamber  in  the  little  world  of  South 
Essex. 

Dan  Fisk  posed  the  jar  on  his  knee  and  ex- 
plained the  dispute,  though  now  with  something 
short  of  his  native  facetiousness. 

Cunning  Murrell  heard  him  through,  and  then 
said  sharply:  "So  now  you  come  to  ask  o'  my 
curls  arts  which  o'  they  men  be  sayin'  truth? 
With  a  copper  charm  you  hear  of?" 

"Aye,  Master  Murrell,  sir;  as  'tis  said,  sir." 

The  old  man  gazed  for  a  moment  hard  and 
sharp  in  Dan  Fisk's  face.  Then  he  said:  "Come 
you  two  in,"  and  turned  into  the  room. 

There  was  a  scuffling  of  feet,  and  Murrell 
turned  again.    "Not  all  o'  that  rabble,"  he  said. 

io6 


GREEN    GINGER 


*'  'Tis  Joe  Barstow  an'  Elijah  Weeley  I  want,  an' 
Dan  FIsk.    Give  me  that  jar." 

Joe  and  Elijah  lumbered  sheepishly  in,  each 
propelled  by  a  hand  of  Dan.  Cunning  Murrell 
took  something  from  a  drawer  in  a  dark  corner, 
and,  without  looking  at  it,  extended  it  behind 
him  as  he  shut  the  drawer. 

"Take  you  the  charm  first,  Elijah  Weeley," 
he  said.  "Take  it  in  your  hand  an'  carry  it  to 
the  light." 

Elijah  took  a  small  disc  of  copper,  convex  on 
its  brighter  side,  and  held  it  near  the  candle  on 
the  mantelpiece.  Murrell  stood  apart,  gazing  on 
the  floor,  with  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Look  you  on  the  metal  very  close,  Elijah 
Weeley,"  he  said.    "D'ye  see  anything?" 

"Oh,  aye,  yes,  Master  Murrell,  sir,"  answered 
Elijah,  his  face  within  an  inch  of  the  object,  and 
his  eyes  protruding  half  the  distance.  "Aye, 
Master  Murrell.  Stands  to  reason  I  can  see  it — 
'tis  natural  I  should." 

"And  why  natural?" 

"Why,  Master  Murrell?  Why,  'cos  'tis  my 
rum,  you  see." 

"Oh,  that  be  your  reason,  eh?  Well,  an' 
what  is't  you  see?" 

"What  is't,  Master  Murrell,  sir?" 

"Aye,  what  is  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  a — a — what  you  might  call  a  sort  o' 
peculiar  kind  o'  thing,  so  to  say.    Very  peculiar." 

107 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Ah,  I  make  no  doubt  o'  that,"  the  old  man 
replied,  with  ungenial  tone.  "Describe  that 
peculiar  thing,  Elijah  Weeley,"  he  added,  still 
gazing  on  the  floor. 

"That,  sir — that.  Master  Murrell,  is  easier 
said  than  done  as  you  might  say,  not  meanin' 
no  harm,  sir.  But  stands  to  reason  I  can  see  it. 
Master  Murrell,  consekens  'o  that  bein'  my  rum. 
That's  argyment,  now,  ain't  it?" 

"Aye,  'tis  argyment,  but  not  information.  If 
you  can  see  it,  Elijah  Weeley,  tell  me  what  'tis 
you  see.     Is  it  like  a  horse,  for  instance?" 

"Well,  sir,  as  to  that,  Master  Murrell,  'tis 
most  likely  you'd  be  right,  sir,  ben't  it?" 

"Aye,  it  is,  Elijah  Weeley.    Go  on." 

"Why,  sir,  that  bein'  so,  sir,  Master  Murrell, 
sir,  you  be  right  an'  most  wonderful  scientific, 
sartin  to  say,  an'  now  I  come  to  look  at  it  'tis 
most  powerful  like  a  boss — quite  wonderful; 
more  like  than  most  real  bosses,  as  you  might 
say." 

"Wonderful!  Elijah  Weeley — wonderful! 
Give  Joe  Barstow  the  charm.  Can  you  see  a 
boss,  Joe  Barstow?" 

"Aye,  yes.  Master  Murrell,  sartenly,"  an- 
swered that  politician  eagerly,  almost  before  he 
had  snatched  the  charm.  "Two  on  'em!"  he 
proceeded  bidding  higher  again.  "Two  on  'em, 
with  saddles!" 

"With  saddles?"  exclaimed  Murrell,  raising 

io8 


GREEN    GINGER 


his  eyes  and  reaching  Joe  in  a  stride.  "Saddles? 
What's  this  you're  looking  at,  Joe  Barstow?" 

"Lookin'  at?  Why,  the  charm,  Master 
Murrell,  sir!    The  charm!" 

"The  charm?  That?  Why,  'tis  the  lid  o' 
my  darter's  copper  kettle,  put  by  for  a  new  rim 
an'  handle!  I  must  ha'  took  it  by  mistake. 
An'  you  saw  bosses  in  it !  Two  bosses  with 
saddles !  'Twould  seem  to  me  this  here  kettle 
lid  be  as  good  a  charm  as  any  with  the  likes  o' 
you,  Joe  Barstow  an'  Elijah  Weeley.  It  tell 
plain  enough  that  you  be  liars  both!  An'  'tis  a 
kettle-lid!  Hosses  and  saddles.  Oh, 'tis  shame- 
ful to  reflect  on  the  depravity  of  the  age!  To 
think  that  two  grown  men  should  walk  about  the 
face  of  this  earth  with  lies  that  any  kettle-lid  can 
contradict !" 

Terrible  in  his  righteous  wrath,  the  old  man 
shook  his  head  in  the  cowed  faces  of  Joe  and 
Elijah,  seized  the  jar  of  rum,  pushed  it  into  a 
cupboard,  and  locked  the  door  on  it. 

"After  what  I've  larned  of  you,  I  misdoubt 
much  how  you  came  by  that  jar,"  he  said,  "an' 
'twould  be  abettin'  your  wickedness  to  let  it  out 
o'  my  charge;  an'  so  I  do  my  duty,  in  face  o' 
the  wickedness  o'  these  times.  Take  them  two 
out  with  you,  Dan  Fisk;  I  want  no  such 
characters  as  them  in  my  house!" 

This  was  certainly  the  last  occasion  on  which 
anybody  had  the  temerity  to  inquire   for  the 

109 


GREEN    GINGER 


copper  charm.  And  it  was  months  ere  the  jar 
was  seen  again;  when  it  was  observed  to  be  a 
jar  of  rum  no  longer;  for  Cunning  Murrell  was 
using  it  to  carry  horse  medicine,  a  thing  in  which 
he  drove  a  thriving  trade. 


IIO 


DOBBS'S   PARROT 

ILL  WRAGG,  dealer  in  dogs,  birds,  and 
guinea-pigs,  began  business  in  the  parrot 
line,  with  a  capital  of  nothing  and  no  par- 
rots. The  old  rascal  hinted  so  much  when  I  got 
from  him  the  tale  of  his  champion  terrier.  Rhy- 
mer the  Second,  which  you  may  read  elsewhere. 
But  I  observed  for  long  a  certain  reluctance 
to  talk  with  any  particularity  of  this  affair  of 
parrot-dealing.  From  this  I  judged  that  It 
must  have  been  a  transaction  of  uncommon — 
well,  say  acumen — even  for  Bill  Wragg;  and 
so  I  found  it,  when  at  last  he  made  his  con- 
fession. 

"Beginnin'  business  without  capital,"  said 
Bill  Wragg,  wiping  his  pipe  with  a  red-spotted 
handkerchief,  "is  all  a  matter  o'  credit,  o' 
course.  Lots  o'  people  begin  on  credit,  an' 
do  very  well;  an'  different  people  get  their 
credit  different  ways.  I  begun  on  credit,  an'  I 
got  my  credit  from  perfick  strangers,  quite  easy. 

"I  was  frightful  'ard  up,  just  then — stony- 
broke,  in  fact.  I'd  been  lookin'  out  for  odd  jobs 
'ere  an'  there,  an'  gettin'  precious  few  of  'em. 
Last  job  I'd  had  was  down  Wappin'  way,  givin' 

III 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  hand  at  a  foreign  animal  shop,  where  the  reg'- 
lar  chap  was  away  ill  .  The  guv'nor,  he  give  me 
a  suit  o'  clothes  to  begin  with,  'cause  he  said  mine 
'ud  disgrace  the  shop,  an'  so  they  would.  The 
new  clothes  wasn't  new  altogether — a  sailor- 
bloke  had  died  in  'em  a  fortnight  afore,  at  a 
crimp's;  but  they  was  all  right,  an'  I  took  it 
mighty  generous  o'  the  guv'nor,  till  the  end  o' 
the  week,  an'  then  'e  stopped  'em  out  o'  my 
wages.  Well,  I'd  been  gone  away  from  that  job 
a  long  time,  an'  there  didn't  seem  another  job  to 
be  had;  so,  bein'  stony-broke,  as  I  just  said,  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  set  up  for  myself. 

"It  was  the  clothes  that  give  me  the  idea  to 
begin  with — them  bein'  of  a  seafarin'  sort;  just 
the  sort  o'  things  a  man  might  wear  as  was 
bringin'  'ome  a  parrot.  An'  what  put  the  idea 
into  movin'  shape  was  me  passin'  a  little  coal- 
office — one  o'  them  little  shanties  where  a  clerk 
sits  all  day  to  take  orders.  I  knew  that  place, 
consequence  of  a  friend  o'  mine  'avin'  done  a 
little  business  there  about  a  dawg  with  the  clerk; 
it  was  a  careless  bit  o'  business  as  might  ha' 
got  my  friend  in  trouble,  if  the  clerk  'adn't  gone 
an'  died  almost  at  once.  Well,  this  clerk's  name 
was  Dobbs,  an'  rememberin'  that,  I  thought  I 
see  my  way  to  raisin'  a  bit  o'  credit. 

"I  just  went  into  the  office  all  gay  an'  friendly, 
an'  'Good  arternoon,'  I  says  to  the  noo  clerk. 
'Good  arternoon.     Is  Mr.  Dobbs  in?' 

112 


GREEN    GINGER 


"  'No,'  says  he,  'Mr.  Dobbs  is  dead.  Been 
dead  six  months.' 

"'Deadf  says  I.  'What?  Dead?  My 
dear  ol'  pal  Dobbs?  No,  it  can't  be  true,'  I 
says. 

"  'It  is  true,'  says  the  chap.  'Anyway,  I 
see  the  funeral,  an'  I've  got  his  job.' 

"  'Well,  now,'  I  says,  'whoever'd  a'  believed 
it?  Poor  ol'  Dobbs!  When  I  went  on  my 
last  voyage  I  left  him  as  well  an  'arty  as  ever 
I  see  anybody !  This  is  a  awful  shock  for 
me,'  I  says. 

"The  clerk  was  rather  a  dull-lookin'  sort 
o'  chap,  with  giglamps,  an'  he  just  nodded  his 
head. 

"  'Quite  a  awful  shock,'  I  says.  'Why,  I 
brought  'ome  a  parrot  for  'im  !  A  lovely  parrot 
— talks  like  a — like  a  angel,  an'  whistles  any, 
toon  you  like.  I  come  here  to  see  him  about  it  1 
It's  a  awful  shock.' 

'Yes,'  says  Giglamps,  'it  was  rather  sudden.' 
'Sudden  ain't  the  Avord,'  I  says;  'it's 
positive  catastrophageous.  An'  what  am  I  to 
do  with  that  beautiful  parrot?  I  can't  take 
it  away  with  me;  the  new  skipper  wouldn't  stand 
it — 'e's  a  terror.  Besides  I  couldn't  bear  to  be 
reminded  of  poor  ol'  Dobbs  every  time  I  see 
'is  lovely  ploomage  or  'card  'im  talk — talks  just 
like  Dan  Leno,  does  that  bird.  What  am  I 
to  do  with  it?     I'm  a  lonely  sort  o'  chap,  an' 

iH3 


GREEN    GINGER 


haven't  got  a  soul  in  the  world  to  give  it  to, 
now  poor  old  Dobbs  is  gone.  If  I  only  knowed 
a  nice  kind  'ome  for  it,  I'd — but  hold  on,'  I 
says,  all  of  a  sudden,  'how  about  you?  Will 
you  have  it?  Eh?  I  don't  believe  you'd  treat 
such  a  'andsome  bird  unkind,  would  you? 
I'll  give  'im  to  you,  an'  welcome,  if  you'll  take 
care  of  'im.  'E's  a  valuable  bird,  too,  but  o' 
course,  I  don't  want  to  make  money  out  of  'im. 
Come,  you  shall  have  him !' 

"I  could  see  old  Giglamps  was  gettin'  in- 
terested, thinkin'  he  was  in  for  a  'andsome 
present.  'Hem!'  he  says,  'it's  very  kind  of 
you,  an'  of  course  I'll  have  the  bird  with  pleas- 
ure, an'  take  every  care  of  him;  very  kind  of  you 
indeed,  I'm  sure  it  is.' 

"  'That's  all  right,'  I  says,  'it's  nothing  to 
me,  so  long  as  pore  Peter  gets  a  good  'ome. 
Peter's  his  name,'  I  says.  'I'll  go  an'  fetch  him 
along  'ere.     Got  a  cage?' 

"  'Why,  no,'  says  he,  'I  ain't  got  a  cage.' 

"  'Must  'ave  a  cage,'  says  I.  'The  one  he's 
in  now  don't  belong  to  me.  Must  'ave  a  cage. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?' 

"  'I  dunno,'  says  Giglamps,  lookin'  'elpless. 

"  'A  good  parrot  cage  comes  a  bit  dear,  to 
buy  new,'  I  says.  'But  there's  a  fine  second- 
hand one  you  might  get  cheap  just  over  in 
Walworth.     I'll  mind  the  office  while  you  go.' 

"  'No,'  he  says,  'I  can't  leave  the  place.'    Of 

114 


GREEN    GINGER 


course,  I  knowed  that  well  enough — it  was  part 
o'  the  game.  *I  can't  leave  the  place,'  says  he. 
'I  s'pose  you  couldn't  see  about  it?' 

'  'Well,'  says  I,  thoughtful  like,  'I'm  a  bit 
busy,  but  p'raps  I  might.  It's  a  fine  cage,  an' 
worth  a  price;  but,  properly  managed,  I  might 
try  and  get  it  for  five  bob,  though  I  expect  it'll 
be  more.  Anyhow,'  I  says,  'give  me  the  five 
bob,  an'  if  I  have  to  pay  any  more  I'll  trust  you 
for  it  till  I  come  back.' 

"So  I  just  puts  out  my  hand  casual,  and  in 
drops  the  five  bob.  So  I  went  out  that  much  to 
the  good  in  credit." 

Here  I  fear  I  exhibited  something  positively 
like  a  grin.     "Credit  or  cash?"  I  queried. 

"Credit,  I  said,  sir,"  Bill  replied,  virtuously. 
"Cash  an'  credit's  the  same  thing  with  a  man 
o'  business  like  me.  I  went  out  with  that  five 
bob,  an'  I  put  in  threepence  of  it  for  a  small 
drink  that  I  wanted  very  bad  arter  bein'  without 
so  long.  I  had  my  drink,  an'  I  thought  things 
over,  an'  I  made  up  my  mind  that  ten  bob  was 
just  twice  as  useful  as  five  to  start  business  with, 
and  there  was  just  such  another  office  of  the 
same  coal  company  only  a  penny  tram  ride  off, 
that  might  be  good  for  another  crown.  So  I 
took  that  penny  tram  ride,  and  found  the  other 
office.  It  was  a  much  smarter,  brisker  lookin' 
chap  at  this  place,  I  found;  but  I  went  at  him 
the  same  way — askin'  for  Dobbs. 


GREEN    GI'NGER 


"  'Dobbs?'  says  the  new  chap.  'No;  he  used 
to  be  up  at  the  next  office  along  the  road  there, 
but  he's  dead  now.' 

"  'Dead?'  says  I.  'What,  my  old  pal  Dobbs  ?' 
And  I  did  it  all  over  again  for  the  new  chap. 
I  think  the  trouble  was  worth  the  money  and 
more,  but  a  man  mustn't  be  afraid  o'  work  when 
he's  beginnin'  business  with  no  capital.  So  I 
did  it  all  again  very  careful,  an'  when  I  came 
to  offerin'  him  the  parrot  he  was  ready  enough. 

"  'Why,  rather,'  he  says,  'I'll  have  him.  I'm 
very  fond  o'  birds.    A  parrot's  just  what  I  want.' 

"  'All  right,'  says  I,  'you  shall  have  him  an' 
welcome.  I'll  fetch  him  along  here.'  So  I  starts 
round  to  go,  and  pitches  back  the  old  question 
from  the  door.     'Got  a  cage?'  says  I. 

"This  time  I  got  a  bit  of  a  surprise.  'Cage?' 
says  he ;  'oh,  yes — I've  got  a  cage — got  a  stunner 
that  belonged  to  my  aunt.  A  parrot's  just  what 
I  wanted  to  put  in  it.     Here  it  is.' 

"An'  he  went  into  the  little  cubby-hole  at  the 
back  an'  dragged  out  a  fust-rate  brass  cage  as 
good  as  new.  It  wasn't  what  I'd  expected,  a 
coincidence  like  that,  but  it  don't  do  to  be  took 
aback  at  little  changes  o'  luck.  'All  right,'  says 
I,  'that'll  do.'  An'  I  laid  'old  o'  the  cage  an' 
slung  out  with  it. 

"Some  chaps  mightn't  have  the  presence  o' 
mind  for  that,  havin'  only  the  five  bob  in  their 
minds,  but  a  man  o'  business  is  got  to  be  ekal 

Ii6 


GREEN    GINGER 


to  anything  as  comes  along,  an'  this  'ere  cage 
was  worth  a  sight  more'n  the  five  bob,  anyhow. 
So  there  I  was,  a  business  man  at  large,  with 
the  rest  o'  five  bob  an'  a  fust-class  brass  parrot- 
cage,  on  credit,  to  begin  business  with. 

"Well,  the  best  parrot-cage  in  the  world  ain't 
complete  without  a  parrot,  so  I  see  very  well 
that  the  next  move  ought  to  be  towards  a  bird 
o'  that  specie.  I  brought  to  mind  a  very  nice 
one  I'd  often  seen  in  a  quiet  road  not  very 
many  streets  away,  one  as  belonged  to  a  nice 
old  lady,  in  a  very  nice  'ouse  with  a  garden 
round  it.  I'd  seen  that  parrot  stood  outside  for 
an  airin'  o'  fine  afternoons,  an'  I  hurried  up  now 
to  get  there  before  it  was  took  in.  You  see 
the  old  gal  hadn't  got  anything  like  so  fine  a 
cage  as  this  brass  one,  an'  I'd  an  idea  her  parrot 
an'  my  cage  'ud  go  together  well.  But  it  all 
depended,  you  see,  on  the  old  lady  bein'  in  sight 
or  not,  whether  my  cage  went  outside  'er  parrot 
— at  a  price — or  'er  parrot  went  inside  my  cage, 
for  nothin'.  There'd  be  more  business  in  the 
last  arrangement,  o'  course,  but  you  have  to 
take  the  best  you  can  get  in  these  'ard  times. 

"I  hurried  up,  an'  when  I  came  to  the  place 
I  see  the  parrot  there  all  right,  standin'  outside 
on  a  garden  chair.  I  just  strolled  in  an'  up  the 
gravel  path  swinging  the  brass  cage  on  my  finger 
an'  lookin'  round  for  the  old  lady.  I  couldn't 
see  her  nor  anybody  else,  so  I  went  up  to  the 


GREEN    GINGER 


parrot  an'  had  a  look  at  him.  He  was  a  fine 
'andsome  bird,  an'  the  cage  he  had  wasn't  good 
enough  for  him,  by  a  lot.  It  was  just  an  ornery 
sort  o'  iron  wire  cage,  half  wore  out,  an'  the 
fastenin'  was  pretty  nigh  droppin'  off  with  rust. 
It  was  plain  enough  it  was  my  cage  that  bird 
ought  to  be  in,  not  a  wore-out  old  thing  like 
the  one  he'd  got.  I  had  a  look  round  to  make 
sure  nobody  was  about,  an'  then  I  took  'old  o' 
that  rusty  old  catch  an'  it  came  open  afore  I 
could  ha'  winked." 

"Surprising!"  I  interjected.  "And  then  I 
suppose  the  parrot  flew  straight  into  the  brass 
cage?" 

"No,  sir,"  Bill  Wragg  answered  calmly, 
"you're  s'posin'  wrong.  That  wouldn't  be  a 
likely  thing  for  it  to  do.  I  might  ha'  made  it  a 
bit  more  likely  by  shovin'  the  open  door  o'  one 
cage  agin  the  other,  but  that  would  ha'  looked 
suspicious,  an'  I  wasn't  quite  jure  that  somebody 
mightn't  be  a-peepin'  from  somewhere.  Why, 
they  might  ha'  thought  I  wanted  to  steal  the 
bird !  You'd  scarcely  believe  'ow  suspicious 
people  are.  As  it  was,  you  see,  it  was  nothin' 
but  a  accident  as  might  have  occurred  to  any- 
body. I  was  just  bringing  in  a  nice  cage  to  sell, 
an'  havin'  a  look  at  the  old  'un  while  I  was 
lookln'  about  for  the  lady." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  I  said,  very  solemnly.  "Of 
course." 

Ji8 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Well,  sir,  you'd  hardly  believe  it,  but  that 
parrot  no  sooner  found  the  door  open  than  he 
flew  out.  Nothin'  to  do  with  me,  o'  course,  but 
he  did  fly  out,  an'  quite  properly  I  went  arter 
him.  I'd  been  the  cause  o'  the  accident,  you  see, 
in  a  sort  of  Indireck  way,  so  I  thought  I  ought 
to  do  what  I  could  to  catch  the  bird — only  fair 
an'  proper.  He  flew  out  over  the  railings  an' 
down  the  road,  an'  I  went  out  the  gate  an' 
trotted  down  the  road  after  him.  He  'lighted 
fust  on  a  tree  at  the  corner,  so  I  let  fly  a  stone 
an'  started  him  off  a'  that,  an'  away  he  went 
down  the  side  street  an'  along  another  turnin'. 

"After  that  it  was  plain  sailin' — all  but  the 
actual  ketchin'  of  'im.  You  can  pretty  easy 
keep  a  parrot  In  sight — he  takes  a  rest  some- 
where every  fifty  yards  or  so.  Nobody  hadn't 
noticed  In  the  quiet  streets,  but  as  soon  as  we 
got  out  a  bit  into  the  traffic  the  crowd  got 
bigger  every  second,  all  huntin'  the  parrot,  an' 
all  ready  to  give  'im  to  me  as  soon  as  he  was 
caught.  'Cause  why?  I  dunno.  I  was  just 
a-runnin'  after  him  with  a  open  cage  In  my 
hand,  that's  all.  /  never  said  he  was  my  parrot. 
But  everybody  else  kep'  sayin'  he  was,  an'  It's 
a  waste  o'  time  to  start  contradictin'  a  crowd. 
So  I  kep'  well  up  In  the  mob,  an'  kep'  a  look- 
out In  case  the  old  lady  should  turn  up,  or 
one  o'  them  coal-office  clerks.  The  crowd  kep' 
gettin'  bigger  an'  bigger,  an'  I  got  to  be  sich 

119 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  celebrated  an'  conspickuous  character  I  began 
to  feel  a  bit  uncomfortable  about  it.  You 
wouldn't  think  there  was  such  a  lot  o'  fools 
about,  ready  to  come  crowdin'  up  an'  shoutin' 
an'  rousin'  up  the  parish,  just  because  of  a  parrot 
gettin'  loose.  O'  course,  I  expected  there'd  be 
a  bit  of  a  crowd,  but  I  hadn't  looked  for  quite 
sich  a  row  as  this,  an'  I  didn't  want  it,  neither. 
'There  'e  is — that's  'im!'  they  was  a-sayin'. 
'That  sea-farin'  lookin'  bloke  with  the  empty 
cage;  'e's  lost  'is  parrot.'  Celebrity  an'  fame's 
all  very  well  in  its  place,  but  a  man  o'  business^ 
settin'  up  for  'isself  on  credit,  like  me,  don't 
want  too  much  of  it  at  once.  An'  the  wust 
of  it  was,  that  there  redikulus  parrot  was  a-work- 
in'  'is  way  nearer  an'  nearer  the  main  road,  with 
the  tram-lines  on  it  an'  them  coal-offices  one  at 
each  end,  an'  the  'ole  neighborhood  turnin'  out 
as  we  went  along. 

"But  nothin'  lasts  for  ever,  an'  in  the  end 
he  'lighted  on  the  sill  of  a  attic  winder  at  a 
corner  'ouse  o'  the  main  road,  an'  a  slavey  that 
was  in  the  attic,  she  claps  a  towel  over  him  an' 
stands  there  screamin'  at  the  winder  for  fear  he 
might  peck  through  the  towel. 

"'All  right,  miss,'  I  sings  out;  "old  tight! 
He  won't  bite!     I'm  a-comin'.' 

"So  they  lets  me  in  the  front  door,  civil  as 
butter,  an'  I  goes  up  to  the  attic,  an'  in  about 
half  a  quarter  of  a  minute  pretty  Polly  was 

I20 


GREEN    GINGER 


inside  the  brass  cage,  as  'andsome  an'  suitable 
as  you  please.  I  told  the  slavey  she  was  the 
smartest  an'  prettiest  gal  I'd  seen  since  fust  I 
went  a-sailin'  on  the  stormy  ocean,  an'  'ow  I 
wished  I  was  a  bit  younger  an'  'andsomer  myself, 
for  'er  sake,  so  it  didn't  cost  me  nothin' ;  which 
was  a  bit  o'  luck,  for  I'd  been  countin'  on  havin' 
to  fork  out  a  bob  to  somebody  for  collarin'  that 
bird. 

"Well,  the  crowd  began  to  melt  a  bit  when 
I  came  out,  the  excitement  bein'  over,  but  I 
didn't  like  the  look  o'  things  much,  so  I  mad© 
up  my  mind  I'd  get  the  job  over  as  soon  as 
I  could.  I  didn't  know  when  the  old  lady  might 
turn  up,  an'  though  o'  course  I  was  only  tryin' 
to  ketch  her  parrot  for  her,  what  had  got  out 
accidental,  things  might  'a'  looked  suspicious. 
Not  but  what,  o'  course,  anybody  could  see 
that  if  I'd  been  a  thief  I'd  'a'  walked  off  with 
the  bird  an'  cage  an'  all  to  begin  with.  A  proper 
man  o'  business  alius  arranges  things  like  that, 
for  fear  of  accidents.  Men  o'  business  as  ain't 
clever  enough  to  manage  it  is  nothin'  but 
dishonest  persons,  an'  liable  to  be  took  up. 

"There  was  a  fine  big  pub  across  the  road, 
at  a  corner  a  little  farther  down — sich  a  fine 
pub  that  it  was  an  hotel,  with  a  proper  hotel 
entrance  at  one  side,  with  plants  in  tubs  an'  red 
carpets.  It  looked  a  sort  o'  place  that  could 
afford  a  price,  so  I  went  in — not  the  hotel  en- 

121 


GREEN    GINGER 


trance,  but  just  the  other  side,  where  there  was 
a  choice  of  three  or  four  bar  compartments.  I 
went  in  the  private  bar,  an'  got  on  to  the  land- 
lord straight  away  as  soon  as  I'd  ordered  a  drink. 

"  'I  wanted  that  drink,'  I  says,  'arter  the  chase 
I've  'ad  for  this  parrot.  Not  but  what  he  ain't 
worth  it — I  don't  b'lieve  you  could  match  a 
parrot  like  that,  not  in  the  Z'logical  Gardens.- 
I  meant  him  for  my  dear  ol'  pal  Dobbs  at  the 
coal  office  along  the  road,  as  you  might  ha' 
known  afore  he  died.  When  I  'card  the  sad 
news,  I  thought  I'd  take  'im  up  to  Leaden'all 
Market  an'  sell  'im;  'e's  worth  ten  quid  of  any- 
body's money,  is  that  bird,  an'  the  cage  'ud  be 
cheap  at  a  couple.  But  I  managed  to  let  him 
loose — my  fault,  through  fiddlin'  with  the  catch 
o'  the  cage  door.  An'  'e's  led  me  such  a  dance 
it'll  be  too  late  for  me  to  git  up  to  the  market 
now.' 

"The  parrot  had  been  a-straightenin'  of  his 
feathers  out  an'  makin'  himself  tidy  arter  the 
scramble  an'  just  at  this  very  moment  he  gives 
a  sort  o'  little  grumble  to  himself  an'  then  raps 
out  'Pretty  Poll !    Hullo  !    Shut  up  !' 

"  'Hear  him  talk!'  I  says.  'He'll  go  on  like 
that  all  day  an'  say  anything  you  please.  What 
an  ornament  he'd  be  to  this  'andsome  bar  o' 
yours!  People'd  come  a-purpose  to  see  him. 
Come,'  I  says,  'You  shall  have  him  for  five 
pound,  cage  an'  all!    How's  that?'  says  I, 

122 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Well,  the  landlord  seemed  quite  on  to  buy 
him,  though  o'  course  he  wouldn't  do  it  without 
a  haggle — 'twasn't  likely.  But  arter  a  bit  we 
settled  it  at  three  quid,  an'  he  handed  over  the 
jemmies.  An'  cheap  it  was,  too.  So  he  stood 
the  cage  up  on  the  top  o'  where  a  partition 
joined  the  bar-screen,  where  everybody  could  see 
him,  an'  said  he'd  have  a  proper  shelf  made  for 
him  to-morrow.  I  didn't  hang  about  much  arter 
that,  you  may  guess.  But  as  soon  as  I  got 
into  the  street,  who  should  I  see  but  the  clerk 
from  the  coal  office,  the  one  that  had  sprung 
the  five  bob,  talking  to  a  chap  as  was  pointin' 
to  the  pub.  Of  course,  the  first  thing  I  thought 
of  was  a  bolt,  but  afore  I  could  make  up  my 
mind  ,he  caught  sight  o'  me.  So  up  I  went  as 
bold  as  brass. 

"  'Hullo,'  says  I,  'that  there  parrot  o'  yours 
is  led  me  a  pretty  dance.  Got  out  o'  the  cage 
an'  kep'  me  all  the  afternoon  chasin'  him.' 

"  'Yes,'  says  old  Giglamps,  'I  wondered  where 
you'd  got  to,  but  when  I  shut  the  office  I  heard 
about  a  parrot  bein'  lose,  an'  that  man  told 
me  you'd  brought  it  in  here.' 

"  'Quite  right,'  says  I,  'an'  so  I  did.  Come 
in  yourself,  an'  see  It.  But  the  cage  ain't  settled 
for  yet,'  I  says,  'an'  It'll  cost  you  five  bob 
more  at  least;  though  the  chap's  askin'  even 
more'n  that.' 

"So  I  led  him  into  the  compartment  on  one 
123 


GREEN   GINGER 


side  o'  the  partition,  an'  showed  him  the  bird  in 
the  cage. 

"  'What  are  you  goin'  to  stand?'  says  I. 
'You  can  see  what  sort  of  a  cage  it  is — two 
quid's  nearer  its  real  price  than  ten  bob.' 

"Old  Giglamps  calls  for  whisky  an'  soda  for 
two,  an'  says  'Pretty  Polly'  to  the  bird,  same 
as  what  any  customer  might  do,  an'  then  he 
hands  me  over  another  five  bob. 

"  'I  think  he'll  take  ten  bob,'  says  I,  'an'  I'll 
just  run  round  an'  see  if  you'll  wait  here.' 

"I  was  in  an  extra  hurry,  you  see,  for  very 
good  reason.  He  was  sittin'  down,  but  I  was 
standin'  up  an'  keepin'  a  weather  eye  on  the 
street  outside;  an'  there  who  should  I  see,  starin' 
up  at  the  pub  front,  but  the  clerk  from  the  other 
coal  office !  What  ho,  thinks  I,  this  tale  o'  the 
parrot  hunt's  got  about  an'  things  is  warmin' 
up !  So  I  skips  out  quick,  an'  ketches  the  chap 
by  the  arm. 

"  'Hullo!'  says  he,  'what  about  that  parrot?' 

"  'Ain't  you  heard?'  says  I.  'He  got  out 
o'  the  cage  an'  led  me  no  end  of  a  dance. 
But  he's  all  right,'  I  says,  an'  I  led  the  chap 
off  to  another  compartment  away  from  his 
pal. 

"  'I  did  hear  about  it,'  says  he,  'an'  that's 
why  I  came  here.  I  began  to  wonder  where 
you'd  got  to.' 

"  'AH  right,'   says  I,   'he's  safe  enough — I 

124 


GREEN    GINGER 


left  him  in  charge  of  the  landlord,  an'  I  was 
a-comin'  along  arter  you,  'cos  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  something  private.  The  fact  is,'  I  says, 
whisperin'  In  his  ear,  'the  landlord's  took  a  great 
fancy  to  that  parrot.  He's  fair  mad  on  it.  O'' 
course,  the  parrot's  yours,  an'  you  can  sell  it  or 
not,  just  as  you  please.  But  if  you  do  sell  it, 
don't  take  less  than  ten  pound,  an'  if  you  get  ten 
pound — well,  I  think  I  ought  to  have  a  quid  or 
two  out  of  it,  oughtn't  I,  seein'  as  I  give  you  the 
bird?    That's  fair,  ain't  it?'  says  I. 

"  'Yes,'  says  he,  'that's  all  right.  If  I  get  a 
tenner  for  it,  I'll  see  you  afterwards.' 

"  'AH  right,'  says  I.  'You  come  in  an'  sit 
down,  an'  don't  say  nothing  about  it.  You 
mustn't  seem  anxious  to  sell.  I  told  the  landlord 
I  was  goln'  to  see  the  owner  an'  I'll  go  round 
the  back  way  an'  talk  him  confidential  into  givin' 
a  good  price.  You  lie  low  till  I  give  you  the 
tip.' 

"So  he  goes  In  an'  sees  his  cage  there  all 
safe  with  the  parrot  In  it,  an'  he  orders  his  drink 
an'  sits  down  quiet.  I  thought  o'  rushin'  round 
into  the  private  bar  an'  tellin'  the  landlord  he 
was  a  chap  comin'  to  offer  a  price  for  the  bird, 
just  to  mix  things  up  a  bit  while  I  got  away. 
But  when  I  got  outside  there  was  another  sur- 
prise, s'elp  me.  It  was  just  gettin'  dusk,  and 
there  was  the  poor  old  lady  as  had  lost  her  par- 
rot, with  a  handkerchief  over  her  head  an'  the 

125 


GREEN    GINGER 


cage  in  'er  'and,  comin'  down  the  road  disconso- 
late, lookin'  up  at  the  houses  after  her  bird! 

"When  you've  got  a  run  o'  luck,  follow  it 
up.  That's  my  motto.  It  was  a  bit  of  a  risk, 
but  I  skipped  across  the  road  an'  said:  'Beg 
pardon,  mum,  but  was  you  a  lookin'  for  a  par- 
rot?' 

"  *0h,  yes,'  she  says.  'Have  you  seen  it? 
If  you'll  only  help  me  find  my  poor  bird,  I'll 
be  so  grateful !  I  didn't  know  he'd  got  out  till 
I  went  to  bring  the  cage  in.  Several  people  told 
me  he'd  come  along  this  road  an'  been  caught,' 
says  she.  'Is  that  true?  Do  you  know  who's 
got  him?' 

"  'Yes  mum,'  says  I,  'I  can  put  you  on  the 
track  at  once.  Your  parrot's  in  that  public  'ouse 
opposite,  havin'  been  took  there  by  the  man  as 
caught  it.  I'll  see  about  it  for  you,  mum,'  I 
says.  'You  come  across  an'  sit  down  in  the 
hotel  entrance,  mum.  It's  quite  respectable  there, 
mum.  The  man  what's  got  it  is  a  low  sort  o' 
chap,  mum — a  coalheaver,  name  o'  Dobbs,  a-sit- 
tin'  in  the  jug  department.  You  can  see  your 
bird  from  the  hotel  entrance,  mum,  stood  up  on 
a  partition.  O'  course,  a  rough  feller  like  that 
Dobbs  wouldn't  be  allowed  in  the  hotel  entrance 
an'  a  lady  like  you  couldn't  go  into  the  jug 
department.  I'll  see  about  it.  I  expect  he'll 
cut  up  rough  an'  want  to  claim  the  bird,  mum, 
but  ril  see  you  get  your  rights,  mum !' 

126 


GREEN    GINGER 


"  'Oh,  thank  you,'  says  the  old  gal,  'I  shall 
be  so  grateful  If  you  will.  I've  been  so  distressed 
at  the  idea  of  losin'  my  dear  Polly!  If  you 
will  get  him  back,  I'll  be  most  grateful.  Of 
course,  I'll  pay  a  reward.' 

"  'Jesso,  mum,'  I  says,  'jesso.  But  not  more'n 
half  a  sovereign.  I'll  see  you  ain't  swindled, 
mum,'  I  says.  'That  chap  Dobbs  'ud  be  ex- 
tortionate, but  not  a  farden  more'n  half  a  sover- 
eign, mum,'  says  I,  'if  you'll  allow  me  to  advise 
you.  I'll  see  to  it  for  you,  mum.  You  just  sit 
down  in  the  hotel  entrance,  mum,  an'  give  me  the 
half-sovereign,  an'  I'll  talk  to  him  firm — firm. 
It's  the  only  way,  with  these  low  characters.  I'll 
talk  to  him  firm,  an'  mention  the  p'lice.  I'll  see 
about  it  for  you,  mum !' 

"So  I  sits  the  old  gal  down  with  her  birdcage 
on  the  settee  in  the  hotel  entrance,  takes  her 
half-quid,  an' — well,  I  left  'er  there  an'  hooked 
it  round  the  first  turnin'  an'  travelled  straight 
ahead,  fast,  for  the  next  half-hour. 

"That  made  near  four  quid  altogether,  raised 
on  credit.  In  my  business  a  chap  as  can't  start 
very  well  on  four  quid  ain't  fit  to  start  at  all, 
sir.  I  done  very  well,  startin'  on  credit,  like  I'm 
tellin'  you." 

"And  you've  never  met  any  of  your  creditors 
since?"  I  asked. 

"No,  sir  I  ain't.  My  business  don't  seem 
to  take  me  that  way.     It's  just  a  book  debt, 

127 


GREEN    GINGER 


you  see — just  a  book  debt.  They  can't  complain. 
What  they  was  all  arter — the  two  coal  clerks, 
the  landlord,  an'  the  old  lady — what  they  paid 
for,  was  nothin'  but  the  parrot  an'  the  cage, 
wasn't  it?  Well,  and  there  it  was  for  them, 
with  them  all  round  it.  They  couldn't  expect 
more'n  that,  could  they?" 

For  the  first  time  during  the  story  I  could 
detect  an  indistinct  chuckle  from  somewhere 
deep  in  Bill  Wragg's  throat. 

"There's  just  one  thing  I  was  sorry  for,"  he 
said;  "but  then  you  can't  'ave  everything.  I 
should  'a'  liked  to  'a'  seen  the  shindy  when  them 
respectable  parties  got  tired  o'  waitin',  an'  began 
to  start  in  an'  try  to  settle  it  all  among  'em- 
selves!  I'd  almost  'a'  give  a  quid  back  to  'ear 
'ow  they  did  settle  it !  But  that  'ud  be  a  luxury, 
an'  a  man  o'  business  starting  on  credit  can't 
afford  luxuries!" 


1128 


THE  SELLER  OF  HATE 

THERE  is  an  English  county  of  which  it 
is  said  that  the  devil  never  entered  it  for 
fear  of  being  put  into  a  pie.  At  the 
moment  I  cannot  remember  which  county  it  is, 
and  know  no  more  of  it  than  to  be  certain  it  was 
not  Essex,  for  all  Essex  pies  are  filled  with  much 
care,  and  are  excellent.  Nevertheless,  it  is  the 
fact  that  in  the  old  days,  before  he  began  build- 
ing cheap  villas,  the  devil  very  rarely  came  into 
Essex,  and  even  now  seldom  ventures  beyond 
the  parts  that  they  sell,  by  auction,  in  building 
lots.  For  the  old  Essex  men  were  too  hard 
for  him,  and  the  county  bore  him  no  luck. 
Everybody  knows  of  his  historic  defeat  at  Barn 
Hall,  and  here  I  have  the  tale  of  his  bad  bargain 
at  Cock-a-Bevis  Hill. 

It  was  some  little  time  ago — some  might  not 
call  it  a  little  time:  at  any  rate  it  was  before 
all  the  improvements — that  old  Luke  Hoddy 
lived  in  a  cottage  on  the  lower  slope  of  Cock-a- 
Bevis  Hill.  It  was  so  small  a  cottage  that  it 
might  have  been  called  a  shed  without  slander, 
and  a  very  lonely,  sullen,  smoky,  frowning,  ill- 
conditioned-looking  shed  it  was,  because  it  is 
the  property  of  a  house  to  proclaim  its  tenant's 
129 


GREEN    GINGER 


character,  and  Luke  Hoddy  was  that  sort  of 
man.  He  was  lonely,  like  his  cottage,  because 
he  was  sullen  and  frowning  and  ill-conditioned, 
like  it  also;  and  they  both  looked  passing  smoky 
because  of  neglect. 

It  might  be  venturing  too  far  to  say  that  Luke 
Hoddy  was  the  most  misanthropic  man  in  the 
world,  or  even  in  all  England.  But  certainly  he 
must  have  been  the  most  misanthropic  man  in  all 
Essex,  where  men  were  all  smiling,  jolly,  and 
pleasant  together  in  the  days  when  the  devil 
feared  their  honest  faces.  Luke  Hoddy  not  only 
hated  his  fellow  men,  but  he  kept  pigs,  and 
hated  them;  he  also  kept  fowls,  and  hated  them 
too.  He  detested  the  poor  cottage  wherein  his 
poverty  condemned  him  to  live;  he  loathed  the 
people  who  bought  eggs  of  him,  and  so  enabled 
him  to  live  there;  he  abominated  the  children 
who  bought  apples  from  the  tree  in  the  garden, 
abominated  them  to  such  an  extent  that  I 
cannot  guess  what  sentiments  he  had  left  for 
the  boys  who  stole  them  in  the  dusk.  He 
abhorred  the  whole  world,  and  everything  in 
it.  He  was  poor  and  ugly  and  old,  and  he 
resented  each  misfortune  as  though  it  were  the 
personal  and  individual  crime  of  every  creature 
but  himself.  When  he  sold  a  fowl  or  a  dozen 
eggs  he  did  it  with  so  evil  a  grace  that  he  had 
to  sell  cheaper  than  anybody  else,  or  keep  his 
wares;  and  this  was  another  reason  for  hating 

130 


GREEN    GINGER 


his  customer.  He  hated  the  money  he  took, 
because  it  wasn't  more;  the  eggs  he  sold,  because 
he  couldn't  keep  them;  the  hen  that  laid  them, 
because  there  weren't  thrice  as  many;  the  rest  of 
the  fowls,  because  they  didn't  care;  and  he  was 
only  glad  of  an  order  for  one  because  he  could 
kill  it  without  losing  money.  If  he  could  have 
wrung  his  customer's  neck  as  cheaply,  he  would 
have  done  it  with  joy.  To  hate  everybody 
better  off  than  himself  was  part  of  his  nature; 
and  he  hated  the  rest  because  they  were  so 
cheerful,  comparatively.  If  you  had  given  him 
a  sackful  of  sovereigns  he  would  have  been  your 
enemy  for  life,  because  they  weren't  guineas; 
and  you  would  have  deserved  much  worse  for 
being  such  a  fool. 

At  the  close  of  a  warm  autumn  day  Luke 
Hoddy  stood  by  his  garden  gate  and  scowled 
on  all  of  the  world  that  he  could  see.  The 
sinking  sun  flung  red  gold  along  the  fields  and 
against  the  trees  and  hedges,  and  a  little  child 
sat  to  view  the  marvel,  and  to  think  wonderful 
things  that  it  would  long  to  recall  in  after  life, 
and  fail.  But  old  Hoddy  hated  all  the  gold  in 
the  world  that  was  not  in  his  own  pocket,  where 
there  was  very  little,  and  that  little  the  only 
thing  he  loved.  Children  also  he  detested,  for 
they  were  human  beings.  A  stout,  round-faced 
woman  went  down  the  path,  with  a  baby  on  one 
arm  and  a  basket  on  the  other,  and  as  she  passed 


GREEN    GINGER 


she  called  good-night.  Luke  flung  back  a  savage 
growl,  for  this  woman  was  a  great  aversion  of 
his,  being  always  happy,  and  all  her  life  persis- 
tently sending  more  children  to  play  on  Cock-a- 
Bevls  Hill.  Then  a  girl  came,  driving  cows, 
and  a  brown  lad  with  her,  and  neither  of  them 
saw  Luke  Hoddy  at  all,  because  they  were  look- 
ing at  each  other.  Luke  positively  snarled;  and 
such  a  villainous  twist  remained  on  his  face 
when  they  had  passed,  that  a  very  small  boy, 
who  was  coming  hopefully  up  with  a  halfpenny 
gripped  in  his  list,  greatly  desiring  an  apple, 
turned  and  ran,  and  never  stopped  till  he 
reached  the  goody-shop  in  the  village;  so  that 
old  Hoddy  was  the  poorer  by  one  halfpenny, 
and  I  am  sorry  it  was  no  more. 

The  day  waned,  and  people  went  on  their 
way  to  rest  from  their  work,  old  and  young, 
men  and  women,  and  old  Hoddy  saw  the  world 
in  little  pass  before  his  gate,  and  he  hated  it  at 
large.  Then  there  went  the  carrier,  and  after 
him  Palgles,  the  farmer,  on  his  cob. 

Paigles  was  a  notoriously  poor  farmer,  and 
backward  with  his  rent;  it  was  more  than  be- 
lieved, in  fact,  that  his  landlord  would  be  glad  to 
sell  the  farm  and  that  way  be  quit  of  him,  since 
he  shrank  from  turning  Paigles  away  from  the 
land  his  great-grandfather  had  farmed  a  hun- 
dred years  before  him,  Luke  Hoddy  grinned 
savagely  at  Paigles's  back  as  it  merged  in  the 

132 


GREEN    GINGER 


shadows  of  the  trees.  If  only  he  had  the  money 
he  would  buy  the  farm,  sell  up  Paigles,  and  fling 
him  out,  neck  and  crop.  He  would  buy  other 
people's  houses,  too,  and  treat  them  likewise. 
They  hated  him  now,  and  if  he  had  money,  how 
he  would  grind  their  faces !  He  would  grind 
their  faces  off  their  heads,  if  only  he  had  the 
money. 

It  was  at  this  favorable  moment  that  the  devil 
ventured  out  on  Cock-a-Bevis  Hill.  He  did  not 
come  flaming  and  raging,  in  a  way  to  frighten 
folk,  for  to-night  that  was  not  his  business ;  he 
came  dressed  very  well  and  neatly,  like  a  gentle- 
man of  those  days,  and  it  struck  Luke  Hoddy 
at  the  time  that  he  looked  rather  like  the  lawyer 
at  Witham.  He  wore  trousers  a  little  tighter 
than  was  usual — skin-tight,  in  fact — ^with  straps. 
His  swallow-tailed  coat  was  pinched  in  very 
elegantly  at  the  waist,  and  his  beaver  hat  was 
broad  in  the  crown  and  wide  in  the  brim.  He 
carried  a  quizzing-cane,  and  his  black  stock 
looked  as  though  it  must  have  gone  a  dozen 
times  round  his  neck,  on  a  collar  that  was  half- 
way up  his  head  behind.  Still,  notwithstanding 
this  very  respectable  appearence,  you  must  not 
suppose  that  Luke  Hoddy  mistook  his  visitor. 
Indeed,  he  recognized  him  at  once;  his  beauti- 
fully varnished  boots  looked  empty  at  the  toes, 
and  from  time  to  time  something  vaguely  dis- 
turbed the  points  of  his  elegant  coat-tail:  more- 

133 


GREEN    GINGER 


over,  his  eyes  would  have  been  enough,  glowing 
there  in  the  dark  like  dull  coals. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Hoddy,"  said  the  visitor, 
pleasantly. 

"Gr-r-r-umph!"  replied  Luke — as  near  as 
I  can  spell  it.  He  was  no  great  conversation- 
alist, finding  a  growl  express  the  most  of  what 
he  had  to  say. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  the  visitor  went 
on.  "I  think  we  should  know  each  other,  Mr. 
Hoddy." 

"Gr-r-r-umph." 

"It  might  lead  to  business,  I  think." 

"Gr-r-r-umph?" 

"Yes.  You  will  find  me  an  excellent  customer. 
My  command  of  money  is  unlimited — I  handle 
most  of  what  exists,  at  some  time  or  other — and 
expense  is  no  consideration,  so  long  as  I  get  what 
I  want.  I  am  prepared  to  pay,  Mr.  Hoddy; 
heavily." 

"Gr-r-m."  It  was  a  slightly  different  growl 
this  time.  Old  Hoddy  was  conscious  of  a  possi- 
ble opportunity.  He  did  not  care  what  he  sold, 
if  only  it  would  fetch  enough  money.  "I  should 
want  a  lot,"  he  said,  "a  plenshus  lot.  Money 
down." 

"You  shall  have  it." 

"An'  I  won't  sign — no,  not  nothen' — not  till 
I  get  it,  every  farden," 

The    devil    laughed — quite    a    gentlemanly 


GREEN    GINGER 


laugh,  with  nothing  offensive  in  it.  "You  are 
misunderstanding,  Mr.  Hoddy,"  he  said.  "I 
believe — I  really  do  believe  you  have  the  absurd 
old  notion  I  hear  of  so  often.  Do  you  think  I 
want  to  buy  your  soul?" 

"Course,"  answered  Luke.     "What  else?" 

"Really,  really!  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything 
unkind,  but  is  it  likely?  As  I  have  told  you, 
I  have  unlimited  command  of  money,  and  I 
spend  it  freely  for  purposes  of  business.  But  I 
don't  absolutely  pitch  it  away,  Mr.  Hoddy !  I 
don't  pay  for  what  is  as  good  as  mine  already, 
for  nothing!  No,  no.  You  are  persisting  in  a 
very  common  and  vulgar  error.  I  may  have 
entered  into  such  a  transaction  as  you  indicate, 
now  and  again,  but  then  the  circumstances  were 
exceptional.  As  a  rule  such  an  arrangement  with 
anybody  willing  to  enter  into  it,  is  altogether 
unnecessary,  as  in  your  case.  No ;  I  come  to  buy 
something  else!" 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Hoddy,  with  sus- 
picion. For  his  wits  were  not  quick,  and  he 
knew  he  was  dealing  with  a  cunning  customer. 
"Gr-r-r-umph !     What's  that?" 

"Hate!  I  want  to  buy  hatred,  wholesale.  I 
am  the  largest  dealer  in  that  line  in  existence, 
and  I  pay  top  prices.  I  do  not  ask  lower  terms 
in  consideration  of  a  big  contract — I  will  even 
pay  a  specially  high  rate  to  a  large  producer  like 
yourself;  it  saves  trouble,  and  I  want  to  have 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  substantial  stock  ready  to  hand.  I  sow  It  about 
all  over  the  world,  you  see,  and  It  Is  most 
annoying  to  find  oneself  In  some  happy,  con- 
tented community,  and  the  stock  of  hatred  com- 
pletely out.  So  I  am  here  to  buy  all  you  can 
sell." 

"How  much?"  tasked  Luke  Hoddy,  still 
suspicious. 

"Oh,  we  shall  never  quarrel  about  terms,  I 
promise  you.  You  shall  make  a  fortune  out  of 
It.  Of  course,  there  are  plenty  of  people  who 
throw  their  hate  about  so  that  I  could  pick  It  up 
for  nothing,  but  the  quantities  are  comparatively 
small;  and  really,  you  know,  a  gentleman  can't 
go  raking  about  In  gutters  for  remnants  and 
scraps,  like  some  starving  blackguard  after 
crusts.  Wouldn't  do  at  all,  you  know.  So  I 
prefer  to  buy  wholesale,  and  you  are  a  perfect 
quarry — a  mine.  I  am  ready  to  take  your  whole 
stock." 

"How  much?"  asked  Luke  Hoddy,  again. 

The  visitor  grinned  quietly.  "I  do  believe," 
he  said,  "that  If  I  wished  to  drive  a  hard  bargain 
I  could  swindle  you,  Mr.  Hoddy.  You  are  so 
very  anxious  about  the  money,  and  I'm  sure  you 
don't  really  guess  what  a  stock  of  the  goods  you 
have  in  hand.  I  could  make  quite  a  bargain  for 
the  lot,  I'm  certain,  and  you'd  be  surprised  at 
the  amount  you  had  sacrificed.  But,  as  I  have 
told  you,  money  Is  no  object  with  me,  though  I 

136 


GREEN    GINGER 


am  not,  at  present,  urgently  needing  the  stock. 
I  have  been  to  a  Philanthropic  Congress  lately, 
where  everybody  exuded  it,  wallowed  in  it,  and 
pelted  everybody  else  with  it  to  such  an  extent 
that  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  gather  it 
in,  though  I  really  attended  with  the  idea  of 
sowing  some  I  already  had  in  hand.  I  am  quite 
well  provided  for  a  time,  but  as  a  prudent  man 
of  business  I  like  to  look  ahead  and  make  engage- 
ments In  advance.  You  want  to  know  what  I 
will  pay.  Well,  I  am  ready  to  accept  bills  as 
often  as  you  like  to  draw  them,  each  for  anything 
up  to  five  thousand  pounds.  Will  that  suit 
you?" 

Luke  Hoddy  gulped  and  gasped.  This  was 
tremendous.  He  had  been  thinking  of  fifties  and 
hundreds,  and  here  were  thousands — and  thou- 
sands over  and  over  again,  indefinitely.  It  was 
wonderful — ^^too  good  to  believe  all  at  once. 
Perhaps  it  would  turn  out  a  swindle  after  all — 
a  trick  to  rob  him  of  the  precious  hate  he  had 
cherished  so  long,  and  which  now  seemed  a  more 
valuable  possession  than  ever.  Old  Hoddy  did 
not  understand  the  acceptance  of  bills,  and  he 
resolved  to  question  a  little  more. 

"It  seems  a  pretty  good  deal  o'  money,"  he 
admitted  grudgingly.  "Anyhow,  a  good  deal 
for  you  to  want  to  pay  as  can  pick  the  stuff  up. 
I  should  count  there  was  plenty  of  hate  about, 
too.    It  aint'  a  rare  stuff." 

I37J 


GREEN    GINGER 


"No,  it  isn't.  But,  considering  the  plenteous- 
ness  of  the  commodity,  it's  wonderful  how  little  I 
get  of  it.  People  seem  to  want  it  for  each  other, 
you  see.  People  talk  a  deal  about  hating  me,  but 
they  hate  each  other  so  much  more  that  it's  very 
rarely  I  can  get  anybody's  hatred  without 
paying  for  it.  And  that  is  why  I  am  here  for 
yours," 

"Gr-r-r-umph !  Well,  Pll  sell.  But  none  o' 
yer  bills  an'  'ceptances  an'  that.  I  want  money 
down.     See?" 

"You  shall  have  the  money  before  I  receive 
the  goods.    Will  that  suit  you?" 

Luke  thought  that  would  do,  and  growled  to 
indicate  as  much. 

The  devil  stooped  in  the  shadow  of  the  fence, 
and  produced  a  box,  which  old  Hoddy  had  not 
noticed  before.  It  was  a  chest  of  some  hard 
wood,  bound  and  cornered  with  iron,  and 
as  soon  as  it  rested  on  the  fence-rail  Hoddy 
grabbed  it  eagerly.  As  a  box,  it  was  heavy, 
but  not  so  heavy  as  it  should  have  been  if  it 
were  full  of  money.  In  fact  old  Hoddy  judged 
it  empty. 

"There  ain't  no  five  thousand  pun'  in  that!" 
he  snarled. 

"Quite  so;  I  never  thought  of  pretending  it. 
This  is  a  little  arrangement  of  my  own  invention, 
which  I  will  explain."  The  night  was  full  dark 
by  now,  but  a  dull  red  light  fell  on  the  chest 

138 


GREEN    GINGER 


wherever  the  devil  pointed,  and  so  Luke  under- 
stood all  he  said. 

"You  perceive  that  the  box  is  locked.  I  shall 
keep  the  key,  and  I  advise  you,  for  your  own 
sake,  not  to  meddle.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to 
open,  if  you  don't  understand  it.  The  lid,  you 
see,  is  a  deep  one.  That  is  because  it  contains  a 
separate  chamber,  into  which  you  slip  your  bills 
for  acceptance.  There  is  a  narrow  slot,  you 
perceive,  just  under  the  upper  edge.  Whenever 
you  wish  to  do  business,  you  will  fill  in  one  of 
the  forms  I  shall  leave  you,  with  the  amount  of 
hate  you  wish  to  sell  in  money,  up  to  five  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  sign  it.  Then  you  will  slip  the 
paper  in  at  the  slot,  and  go  to  bed.  That  is  all. 
In  the  morning  you  will  receive  the  money.  But, 
meantime,  you  must  sleep;  otherwise  the  sale 
cannot  be  completed.  Take  the  box,  and  re- 
member what  I  say.  I  shall  not  call  again  till 
I  want  some  of  the  goods.  Then  I  shall  take 
away  the  box  and  leave  a  fresh  one.  Do  you 
know,  I'm  rather  proud  of  the  invention  of  that 
box.  Some  day,  if  I  have  time,  I  intend  to  adapt 
the  idea  to  other  purposes.  It  might  be  made 
to  work  with  pennies,  for  matches  and  lollipops 
and  such  things.  Good  notion,  eh?  But  here 
are  your  bill-forms;  if  you  want  more  you  can 
copy  one  of  them.  And  remember,  no  more 
than  five  thousand  pounds  at  one  time,  if  you 
please.    That  is  the  price  of  the  largest  quantity 

139 


GREEN    GINGER 


of  hate  the  machine  is  able  to  compress  in  a  day. 
That  is  all,  I  think.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Hod- 
dy!" 

And  with  that  he  was  gone,  vanishing  in  a 
very  low  and  courtly  bow,  which  somehow  slid 
away  backward  into  the  shadows;  leaving  Luke 
Hoddy  standing  there  with  a  bunch  of  papers  in 
his  right  hand  while  he  balanced  the  box  on  the 
fence  with  his  left. 

Old  Hoddy  stared  for  a  minute  and  a  quarter, 
and  then,  convinced  that  he  really  was  alone,  he 
picked  up  the  box  and  carried  it  indoors.  He  lit 
a  candle,  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  began  to  spell 
out  one  of  the  papers.    Thus  it  read: — 

Date — 
On  presentation  pay  to  me  the  sum  of  £       for, 
hate  received. 

That  seemed  simple  enough.  Luke  Hoddy 
sat  in  a  chair,  and  stared,  now,  at  the  box. 
Having  done  that  for  a  little  while  he  turned  to 
the  paper  again,  and  stared  at  that.  And  at  last, 
when  he  found  his  faculties  shaking  down  into 
their  proper  places,  he  got  ink  and  pen,  and  filled 
in  the  topmost  form.  He  filled  it  in  for  the  full 
five  thousand  pounds,  having  a  natural  desire  for 
as  much  as  he  could  get.  Then  he  signed  it, 
slipped  it  into  the  slot,  and  went  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  he  woke  feeling  particularly 

140 


GREEN    GINGER 


well — uncommonly  well.  As  he  got  out  of  bed 
he  caught  sight  of  his  face  in  the  jaggy  piece  of 
looking-glass  that  stood  on  the  mantel-piece  and 
saw  a  positive  smile  on  it.  He  sat  for  a  moment 
to  wonder  at  this,  and  presently  broke  into  a 
laugh.  He  remembered  a  ridiculous  dream 
about  the  devil  and  a  chest. 

Sunlight  came  in  at  the  poky  little  window, 
and  the  sound  of  a  thousand  birds.  The  light 
fell  on  the  corner  of  a  deal  table,  and  there  lay 
a  little  bundle  ot  papers.  There  was  no  mistake 
— they  were  the  blank  bills.  Luke  Hoddy 
rubbed  his  fist  over  his  head  to  clear  his  thoughts. 
The  thing  would  seem  to  have  been  no  dream 
after  all.  But  as  he  pulled  on  his  clothes  he 
remembered  the  attorney  at  Witham.  No  doubt 
this  was  some  joke  of  his — Luke  had  noticed 
the  extraordinary  likeness  from  the  first.  But 
why  should  he  take  all  this  trouble  to  put  a 
sell  on  a  stranger?  Luke  Hoddy  floundered 
into  the  only  other  room  of  his  cottage,  and 
there  saw  the  iron-strapped  box  standing  against 
the  wall.  Truly  it  was  no  dream.  There,  along 
the  slot  in  the  lid,  lay  the  white  edge  of  the 
paper,  which  he  had  thought  he  had  pushed 
well  in.  Or  at  any  rate  it  was  some  paper,  or 
papers.  What  was  It?  He  reached  and  pulled 
out — not  one  paper,  but  five;  and  each  was  a 
thousand-pound  bank-note ! 

It  was  true  then — quite  true;  neither  dream 

141 


GREEN    GINGER 


nor  sell,  but  simple  fact.  Here  was  the  actual, 
indubitable  money.  Luke  Hoddy  sat  for  a  while 
in  the  blankest  of  brown  studies  and  then  began 
to  chuckle.  Chuckling,  he  went  out  into  the 
open  and  looked  across  the  fields,  lusty  and 
sparkling  in  the  fresh  morning.  A  little  child, 
carrying  a  basin  in  a  blue  handkerchief,  stood 
In  amaze  to  see  old  Hoddy  so  merry:  where- 
upon he  gave  the  child  an  apple  for  nothing, 
and  sat  down  to  laugh  at  the  strangeness  of 
things. 

He  sobered  down  after  a  little,  and  wondered 
at  the  impulse  that  had  led  to  the  gift.  That 
apple  was  the  first  thing  he  had  ever  given 
away  In  his  life,  and  It  seemed  a  foolish  thing 
to  do.  Especially — and  the  thought  came  like 
a  grip  at  the  throat — especially  If  the  thing  was 
a  sell  after  all,  and  the  notes  spurious. 

This  was  a  matter  that  must  be  settled  at 
once.  So  he  watched  for  the  carrier's  cart  that 
morning,  and  went  by  It  to  WItham,  to  the 
bank.  Here  his  spirits  rose  again,  for  the  cashier 
made  no  difficulty  about  the  notes,  but  opened 
an  account  with  them,  and  old  Hoddy  left  the 
premises  with  a  pass-book  of  his  own,  containing 
an  entry  of  five  thousand  pounds  to  his  credit. 

He  resolved  to  see  about  Paigles's  farm  with- 
out delay,  and  to  that  end  called  on  the  attorney. 
Hoddy  observed  the  lawyer  pretty  closely,  and 
was  relieved  to  find  that  although  he  was  smartly 

142 


GREEN    GINGER 


enough  dressed,  he  was  not  so  very  much  like 
the  visitor  of  last  night,  after  all.  The  lawyer 
promised  to  make  discreet  inquires  as  to 
the  price  of  the  farm,  and  Luke  Hoddy  left 
him. 

That  night  he  filled  in  another  bill  for  the 
full  five  thousand,  and  in  the  morning  drew  out 
another  bunch  of  notes.  Then  he  went  out  and 
caught  the  children  going  to  school  and  distrib- 
uted apples  among  them,  till  nothing  remained 
on  the  tree  but  leaves;  laughing  so  much  at 
the  fun  that  rumors  arose  that  old  Hoddy  was 
gone  mad.  The  bank-cashier  was  a  little  sur- 
prised to  see  him  again  with  precisely  the  same 
amount,  and  the  lawyer  was  also  a  little  surprised 
to  have  another  visit,  and  instructions  to  look  out 
for  a  few  more  freehold  investments,  in  addition 
to  Paigles's  farm.  But  that  mattered  nothing, 
and  the  next  day  old  Luke  Hoddy  banked  five 
thousand  more. 

Paigles's  farm  was  for  sale,  and  at  a  moderate 
price;  also  there  was  a  deal  of  other  eligible 
property  to  be  had  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
as  the  money  rolled  in  Hoddy  took  the  first 
steps  toward  becoming  a  landed  proprietor  of 
no  small  consideration. 

But  lawyers  have  their  fees  to  earn,  and  be- 
tween the  first  steps  and  the  last  there  are  a 
great  many  more,  and  In  those  days  there  were 
more  than  there  are  now;  and  every  step  took 

143 


GREEN    GINGER 


time.  So  that  it  came  to  pass  that,  before  the 
last  seal  was  pressed  and  the  last  fee  earned,  old 
Hoddy,  rising  one  morning  very  merry,  turned 
to  pull  out  his  customary  notes  from  the  hox, 
but  Instead  of  five,  found  only  one  piece  of 
paper,  and  that  not  a  bank-note.  It  was,  in 
fact,  his  own  bill  of  exchange,  just  as  he  had 
drawn  it  the  night  before;  except  that  there 
now  appeared  across  It,  In  the  blurred  capitals 
of  a  roughly-Inked  stamp,  the  words  Referred 
TO  Drawer. 

Luke  Hoddy  had  grown  so  used  to  drawing 
his  money  regularly  and  making  his  daily  trip 
to  Witham,  that  he  went  through  some  minutes 
of  dumb  amazement  before  he  realized  that  his 
stock  of  hate  was  at  last  absolutely  exhausted, 
and  no  more  bank-notes  were  to  be  expected 
from  the  box.  At  first  his  smile  faded  and  his 
face  lengthened;  but  it  was  not  for  long.  Indeed 
he  was  a  very  rich  man,  and  he  had  of  late 
begun  to  wonder  what  he  should  do  with  all 
his  money.  For  the  credit  of  human  nature  I 
shall  not  tell  the  precise  figure  of  old  Hoddy's 
riches;  and  very  few  would  believe  in  the 
existence  of  such  a  stock  of  hate  as  it  would 
imply,  if  I  did.  But  he  was  a  very  rich  man, 
and  was  putting  money  into  other  securities 
beside  land.  So  his  face  soon  broadened  again 
into  the  grin  it  had  worn  since  he  had  stripped 
his  apple-tree.     He  would  not  need  to  go  to 

144; 


GREEN    GINGER 


Witham  to-day,  and  he  would  have  leisure  to 
think  things  over. 

He  was  still  in  the  little  cottage  on  Cock-a- 
Bevis  Hill — indeed  there  had  scarce  been  time 
for  a  change.  He  used  to  detest  the  place,  but 
now  that  all  his  hate  was  sold,  he  rather  liked 
the  situation.  He  had  a  design  of  building  a 
house  close  by,  some  day,  but  meantime  the 
cottage  did  very  well,  and  he  resolved  in  any 
event  to  leave  it  standing,  and  use  It  sometimes. 

He  went  out  Into  his  garden  and  beyond  the 
fence,  whistling.  Presently  he  saw  the  girl  com- 
ing, driving  her  cows  out  to  the  meadow,  and 
the  brown  lad  with  her,  just  as  they  had  passed, 
in  the  opposite  direction,  on  the  evening  when 
Hoddy  had  received  the  Owner  of  the  Box. 
But  this  time  they  could  not  help  seeing  him, 
for  he  called  to  them  gaily,  with  questions  about 
banns  and  a  wedding-day,  and  a  promise  of  a 
silver  tea-pot  when  the  day  should  come.  And 
when  they  had  passed  he  was  reminded  to  fill 
a  basket  with  eggs  and  carry  them  down  to  the 
cottage  of  the  round-faced  woman  who  had  so 
many  children.  After  which,  finding  his  experi- 
ence in  generosity  such  novel  fun,  he  got  five 
shillingsworth  of  pennies  at  the  Crown  and 
Cushion  and  gave  one  to  every  child  he  could 
catch.  Some  of  them  wanted  a  deal  of  catching, 
for  it  was  not  easy  for  people  to  understand 
this  change  in  old  Hoddy's  habits.     The  fact 

145, 


GREEN    GINGER 


was  that  not  only  had  he  got  rid  of  all  his  old 
hatred,  but  when  he  remembered  it  he  felt  a  little 
ashamed,  and  had  a  great  desire  to  make 
amends. 

Paigles's  farm  was  bought  at  last,  and  more 
than  half  the  parish  with  it ;  the  last  fee  was 
paid  and  the  deeds  were  locked  in  the  strong- 
room at  the  bank.  Then,  when  the  time  came 
to  sell  up  Paigles,  old  Hoddy  lowered  his  rent 
instead.  And  as  to  the  other  tenants,  he  dis- 
covered a  way  of  grinding  their  faces  against 
platters  and  quart  pots,  giving  them  and  their 
families  the  most  enormous  dinner,  in  three 
barns,  that  Cock-a-Bevis  Hill  had  ever  looked 
down  on. 

It  was  in  the  merriment  that  followed  this 
dinner  that  the  transactions  began  that  revealed 
the  sole  drawback  to  Hoddy's  extraordinary 
bargain.  For  in  his  sudden  revulsion  from 
misanthropy  and  misogyny  he  conceived  an 
almost  exaggerated  opinion  of  the  attractions  of 
his  tenant's  daughters  and  sisters,  and,  in  some 
cases,  of  their  aunts  and  mothers.  Nor  did  it 
stop  there,  for  as  the  days  went  and  the  news 
of  his  wealth  and  amiability  spread  and  multi- 
plied old  Hoddy  found  himself  involved  in  such 
a  complication  of  entanglements,  that  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  once  again  to  call  in  the  aid 
of  the  Witham  attorney,  by  whose  arts,  and  the 
payment  of  a  good  deal  of  money,  actions  for 

146 


GREEN    GINGER 


breach  were  compromised,  bigamy  averted,  and 
safety  found  in  the  end  by  marriage  with  an 
active  and  respectable  widow. 

But  these  things  came  to  a  head  later,  and 
in  any  case  they  have  little  to  do  with  the  story. 
Meantime,  the  iron-strapped  box  stood  in  the 
corner  of  Luke  Hoddy's  keeping-room,  full  of 
compressed  hate,  waiting  for  the  devil  to  come 
and  fetch  it. 

Now  the  report  of  old  Hoddy's  sudden  wealth 
went  about  among  the  good  folk  of  those  parts, 
and  not  among  the  good  folk  only.  It  reached 
also  two  vagabond  thieves,  tramping  through 
Witham  from  Springfield  gaol,  after  a  narrow 
squeak  for  their  necks  at  the  assizes ;  and  this  was 
not  the  first  time  they  had  cheated  the  gallows- 
They  turned  aside  from  the  main  road  because  of 
the  rumors,  for  a  feeble  old  man  of  great  wealth, 
living  alone  In  a  cottage  of  two  rooms,  offered 
singular  attractions  to  their  inquiring  natures. 

They  came  to  Cock-a-BevIs  Hill,  and  learned 
enough  to  make  them  very  hopeful;  and  that 
night  they  took  a  lantern  and  two  bludgeons, 
and  lifted  old  Hoddy's  simple  latch  with  neither 
noise  nor  trouble.  Old  Hoddy  was  snoring 
sturdily  in  the  other  room,  but  though  they  had 
come  willing  to  stop  his  snore  for  ever,  they 
checked  at  the  sight  of  the  iron-bound  box  In 
the  corner.  It  stood  very  notable  among  the 
poor  furniture  about  It,  and  here,  they  were  well 

H7 


GREEN    GINGER 


assured,  was  the  best  the  place  could  yield,  the 
end  of  their  desires — ^the  treasure  chest.  So  they 
left  old  Hoddy  to  his  snore,  and  carried  the  box 
quietly  out,  and  up  the  breezy  slope  of  Cock- 
a-Bevis  Hill  under  the  stars.  In  a  sheltered 
hollow  near  the  top  they  set  it  down,  and  pried 
it  open  with  a  chisel;  and  that  was  the  end  of 
both  of  them. 

In  the  morning  Paigles's  horseman  found 
them  lying  dead  in  the  hollow,  contorted  and 
black — something  like  men  struck  by  lightning; 
and  the  box  lay  by  them,  plain  and  empty. 

When  Luke  Hoddy  learned  the  news  in  the 
morning  he  looked  up  the  hill  and  at  the  clouds, 
and  saw  that  the  breeze  held  steady  from  the 
west,  as  it  had  done  the  day  before;  and  he 
knew  that  all  his  hate  had  been  carried  away  on 
the  winds  from  off  the  earth.  It  had  saved  the 
hangman  a  double  turn,  and  that  was  all  it  had 
done,  good  or  bad;  what  became  of  It  nobody 
could  ev^er  tell,  though  since  the  wind  was  from 
the  west,  some  of  it  may  have  fallen  in  Germany. 

But  the  Owner  of  the  Box  was  sadly  vexed, 
as  you  would  guess.  Nevertheless  he  dissembled 
his  anger,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  his  mis- 
fortune (which  he  did  by  means  of  which  I 
know  nothing)  he  came  to  old  Hoddy,  polite 
as  ever,  with  the  Idea  of  reducing  his  bad  debt 
as  far  as  possible.  He  went  cautiously  to  work, 
being  out  of  confidence  with  himself  in  the  county 

148 


GREEN    GINGER 


of  Essex,  and  remembering  his  ancient  defeat  at 
Barn  Hall — of  which  I  may  tell  another  time. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hoddy,"  he  said,  "we've  had  a 
little  misfortune.  It's  no  fault  of  yours,  of 
course,  and  I  shall  make  some  very  special 
arrangements  for  the  guilty  parties.  But  to  prove 
my  perfect  and  continued  confidence  in  yourself, 
I've  come  to  do  business  again,  on  very  excep- 
tional terms.  I'm  ready  to  enter  into  that  other 
little  transaction  at  which  you  hinted  during  our 
last  interview.  As  I  said  then,  it's  a  thing  I 
rarely  do,  in  spite  of  vulgar  opinion  to  the  con- 
trary; but  in  your  case,  on  old  and  respected 
customer,  I'm  willing  to  stretch  a  point. 
You've  found  me  treat  you  very  well  in  our  first 
deal,  and  I  don't  want  to  drop  the  connection. 
What  do  you  say?" 

Because,  you  see,  now  that  all  Hoddy's  hate 
was  quite  gone,  Hoddy  himself  was  such  a  very 
different  person  that  he  was  a  very  desirable 
bargain,  and  the  devil  was  ready  to  buy  him 
forthwith. 

Old  Hoddy  chuckled  deep  and  long,  "It  do 
seem  to  me,"  he  said,  "as  you'd  do  better  in 
the  shires;  I  count  you  make  a  poor  trade  In 
Essex.  At  Dedham  an'  Snoreham  they  be  too 
wide  awake  for  'ee,  an'  too  clever  at  Little 
Witham;  you'd  starve  at  Pinchpoles,  an'  you 
can't  fob'em  at  Fobbing.  But  a  shire  man  alius 
was  a  fool,  an'  I  count  you'd  do  better  right 

149, 


GREEN    GINGER 


over  across  the  Lea,  at  Much  Hadham.  What 
you're  at  now  Is  to  buy  me,  eh?" 

"At  a  great  price,  Mr.  Hoddy;  a  noble  sum !" 

Old  Hoddy  chuckled  again.  "Very  kind,  I'm 
sure.  'Fore  I  lost  my  hate  I'd  ha'  talked  it 
over  longways,  but  ready  meat's  my  victual. 
D'ye  know  the  stile  at  the  bottom  o'  t'  hill?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  if  ye  go  over  that  an'  keep  along  by 
t'  hedge,  you  come  to  anoather.     Know  that?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Other  side  o'  that  there's  a  ditch." 

"Just  so." 

"An'  a  meddy  with  a  tree  in  the  middle — oak. 
D'ye  know  the  oak  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  if  you  went  along  down  there  now, 
arl  alone,  an'  ran  round  that  there  oak,  who'd 
you  be  a-chasin'  ?" 

"Myself." 

Old  Hoddy  guffawed  loud  and  long,  with  his 
thumb  against  his  nose.  "Go  on  then!"  he 
said.     "That's  my  opinion,  too  I" 


150 


THE  RODD  STREET 
REVOLUTION 


I  HAVE  told  the  tale  of  the  Red  Cow 
Anarchist  group  in  another  place,  and  at 
another  time;  indeed  I  am  startled  to  re- 
member that  it  was  fourteen  years  ago.  As  a 
fact  the  credit  of  that  tale,  if  it  has  any,  is  due  to 
my  disreputable  friend,  Snorkey  Timms,  who 
told  it  me,  as  he  told  me  others.  He  it  was  who 
first  discovered  Sotcher,  the  founder  and  victim 
of  the  Red  Cow  Group,  and  he  it  was  who  told 
me  also  this  other  tale  of  an  earlier  group  of 
Sotcher's  founding. 

Teddy  Mills,  it  would  seem,  was  a  shoemaker, 
who  lived  and  worked  in  a  very  small  house  in 
Rodd  Street,  Bethnal  Green — a  very  small  street, 
which  could  only  be  reached  by  making  several 
turns  and  twists  through  and  out  of  other  streets 
nearly  as  small.  The  little  house  had  once  been 
one  of  a  row  of  country  cottages,  and  the  row 
even  now  carried  some  vague  air  of  blighted 
ruralism,  because  of  the  muddy  strips  of  front 
garden,  which  many  tumbling  children  shared 
with  many  lank  cats  and  a  fev/  very  desperate 
scarlet  runners  on  strings. 


GREEN    GINGER 


Teddy  Mills,  small,  bristly  and  wild  of  eye, 
was  Sotcher's  newest  convert.  As  a  jobbing 
shoemaker,  in  accordance  with  the  mysterious 
laws  which  make  all  jobbing  shoemakers  swarthy 
and  ill-shaved  and  politically  rebellious,  Teddy 
Mills  was  promising  material,  and  Sotcher,  lank, 
greasy  and  unwashed,  fresh  from  the  Anarchist 
Club  in  Berners  Street,  Shadwell,  fastened  on 
him  at  once.  For,  indeed,  Teddy  Mills  made 
good  material  in  other  respects  than  that  of  his 
native  readiness  to  join  in  the  abuse  and  over- 
throw of  whomsoever  he  might  suspect  of  su- 
periority, in  fortune  or  qualities,  over  himself; 
for  one  thing,  he  had  good  work,  and  conse- 
quently money  which  might  be  cadged. 

On  the  other  hand,  Teddy  Mills  had  a  wife, 
who  was  very  intractable  material  indeed. 
Sotcher's  impassioned  teachings,  received  with 
enthusiasm  by  Teddy  Mills,  brought  from  Mrs. 
Mills  no  better  tribute  than  a  sniff  of  contempt; 
and  the  lady's  opinion  of  Sotcher  himself,  wholly 
unfavorable,  she  expressed  with  much  freedom 
and  no  politeness.  And  so  it  came  about  that, 
from  the  day  of  Sotcher's  appearance,  things 
went  less  smoothly  in  the  Mills  household. 
Teddy  Mills's  time  soon  seemed  to  be  divided 
between  listening  to  Sotcher  and  quarrelling  with 
Mrs.  Mills,  so  that  very  little  was  left  for  mere 
business,  and  the  making  and  mending  of  shoes 
became  more  and  more  a  theory  of  yesterday 


152 


GREEN    GINGER 


and  to-morrow,  and  less  and  less  a  practice  of 
to-day. 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Mills  would  say,  appearing 
suddenly  with  a  red  face  and  tucked-up  skirts 
after  a  day's  washing,  "I've  done  my  day's 
work,  'cept  clearin'  up.  'Ow  much  'a'  you 
done?" 

"I've  done  more'n  you  think,"  her  husband 
would  reply,  with  evasive  dignity, 

"Yes,  that  you  'ave,  if  you've  done  anythink 
but  sit  an'  jaw  along  o'  that  dirty  greasy  spongin' 
thief  Sotcher.  I  'eard  'im.  I  'card  'im  tellin 
you  to  do  away  with  the  p'lice.  You'd  look  fine 
doin'  away  with  the  p'lice,  you  would!  You'll 
do  away  with  me,  if  there's  much  more  of  it! 
'Ow  long  am  I  to  keep  this  place  goin'  like 
this?" 

"When  the  social  revolution  comes,"  Teddy 
Mills  explained,  "we  sha'n't  neither  of  us  'ave 
to  work  more'n  an  hour  or  two  a  day,  'cos  every- 
body'll  'ave  to  work." 

"An  hour  or  two!  Ho!  An'  'ow's  this 
place  to  be  kep'  clean  an'  food  cooked  an'  all  in 
an  hour  or  two!  But  p'raps  a  woman's  work 
don't  count.  An  hour  or  two,  says  you !  An' 
'ow'll  your  dear  friend  Sotcher  like  it,  I  wonder? 
A  'ole  hour !  Did  'e  ever  do  an  hour's  work 
in  'is  life?" 

"Mr.  Scotcher's  a  speaker,  I  tell  you,  a  pioneer 
— one  as  teaches  the  propaganda " 

^53 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Proper  what?  Gander?  '  It's  a  proper  goose 
'e  teaches  when  'e  comes  'ere  a-preachin'  to  you ! 
With  'is  free  this  an'  free  that,  an'  free  drinks 
between  whiles !  /  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  it  much 
longer,  so  I  tell  you !  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  work 
'ere  for  you  an'  'im  too,  on  nothink.  I  can  earn 
my  livin'  alone,  I  can,  an'  I  will,  if  there  ain't 
a  change!" 

Mrs.  Mills  tried  Sotcher  with  direct  personal 
insult,  but  that  had  no  better  effect  than  to  turn 
his  unceasing  discourse  to  the  denunciation  of 
marriage  as  an  oppressive  and  inconvenient  in- 
stitution, which  should  shortly  be  abolished,  with 
the  police,  the  magistracy,  and  every  other  relic 
of  privileged  authority,  temporal  and  spiritual. 
On  her  part,  Teddy's  wife  grew  more  urgently 
bitter  as  the  days  went. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  one  fine  morning 
Sotcher  arrived  at  the  gate  of  Mills's  front  gar- 
den to  find  Teddy  standing  by  the  post,  clutching 
at  his  touzled  hair  perplexedly,  and  staring 
gloomily  up  the  street. 

"She's  gone,"  he  reported  briefly. 

"Gone  where?"  asked  the  visitor,  gazing  up 
the  street  also,  and  seeing  nothing. 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Teddy.  "She's  hooked 
it,  that's  all.  I  did  a  bit  o'  work  last  night,  an' 
took  it  'ome  this  mornin' ;  an'  when  I  came  back 
there  was  this  on  the  table." 

He  extended  a  crumpled  scrap  of  paper,  on 

154 


GREEN    GINGER 


which  Sotcher  read  the  scrawl :  "Good  bye,  i'm 
agoing  to  work  for  myself  noiv." 

"Selfishness,"  commented  Sotcher.  "The 
selfishness  prevailent  at  the  present  time  is  due 
to  the  rotten  state  of  s'ciety  an'  the  oppression  o' 
the  privileged  classes.  When  we  'ave  the  social 
revolution,  an'  free  an'  absolute  liberty  o'  the 
individual,  then  selfishness  '11  be  swep'  out  o'  the 
world." 

"Yes,"  answered  Teddy  blankly,  "but  what — 
what  am  I  a-goin'  to  do  till  it  is?" 

"Wave  aloft  the  banner  o'  free  an'  unre- 
stricted brotherhood  and  liberty  in  the  face  o'  the 
bloated  circles  o'  class  an'  capitalistic  privilege," 
replied  Sotcher,  with  the  fluency  of  a  fresh-oiled 
machine. 

"What?" 

"'I  said  we'd  raise  our  free  'ands  an'  voices 
in  the  sacred  cause  o'  universal  anarchy  an' 
proudly  march  in  the  van  of  progress  to  the 
glorious  consummation  o'  the  social  upheaval," 
Sotcher  continued,  knowing  that  one  sentence 
meant  as  much  as  the  other,  and  airing  them, 
therefore,  in  turn. 

"Yes — jesso,"  replied  Teddy  Mills,  turning 
his  uneasy  glance  toward  the  little  front  door; 
"but  what  about  the  washin'  ?" 

Sotcher's  eloquence  was  not  to  be  turned  aside. 
"Comrades  with  a  glorious  mission  like  us," 
he  pursued,  "can't  waste  time  over  washin'.    I 


GREEN    GINGER 


don't."  The  truth  of  this  remark  was  visible 
to  the  naked  eye.  "We  fix  our  eyes  forward 
and  up'ard,  trampling  under  the  feet  of  free 
Initiative  the  relics  of  barbarous  authority, 
an'  overthrowin'  the  bloodstained  temples  of 
capitalistic  monopoly!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  responded  Teddy;  "but  when 
I  said  washin',  I  wasn't  thinkin'  so  much  of  our 
washin'.  She's  bin  takin'  In  washin'  lately,  an' 
earnin'  a  bit,  an'  I  shall  miss  it." 

This  was  a  more  serious  matter,  and  Sotcher 
paused  thoughtfully.  He  considered  the  situa- 
tion for  a  moment,  and  then  produced  a  brilliant 
project. 

"Comrade  Mills!"  he  said,  lifting  and  ex- 
hibiting to  Teddy's  gaze  the  palm  of  a  very 
grubby  hand,  "this  is  an  'Istoric  moment!" 

"Is  It?"  asked  Teddy  Innocently. 

"It  Is.  It's  lucky  your  wife's  gone,  an'  so 
put  the  scheme  into  my  'ead.  We  don't  want 
'er.  We'll  found  the  first  real  Anarchist 
colony!" 

"Yes?"  said  Teddy  interrogatively. 

"That  'umble  'ome  o'  yours,"  proceeded 
Sotcher,  "will  be  'anded  down  the  ages  on  golden 
trumpets,  an'  Inscribed  on  the  'arts  of  generations 
to  come.  We'll  begin  the  social  revolution 
there!" 

"All  right,"  assented  Teddy.  So  complete 
was  his  belief  in  Sotcher,  that  if  the  proposal 

156 


GREEN    GINGER 


had  been  to  redistribute  the  solar  system  there 
he  would  have  said  "All  right,"  just  the  same. 

"We'll  bring  in  one  or  two  comrades  an'  live 
together  in  the  full  brother'ood  of  anarchy,  an' 
give  a  example  to  the  toilin'  millions  about 
us.  We'll  'ave  perfect  individual  freedom  an' 
voluntary  co-operation,  an'  the  'ole  world'll  take 
a  lesson  by  us  an'  bust  out  in  the  glorious  day- 
break of  Universal  Autonomy!" 

"All  right,"  said  Teddy,  again. 


II 


SoTCHER  invited  the  co-operation  of  two  more 
comrades,  and  he  did  not  bring  them  from  the 
Anarchist  Club.  Four  he  judged  a  convenient 
total  number,  since  the  house  had  four  rooms, 
and  he  did  not  bring  the  two  new  comrades  from 
the  club,  because  he  knew  the  club  of  old.  There 
they  were  all  talkers  as  fluent  as  himself,  and 
not  listeners.  Sotcher  wanted  listeners.  It  was 
for  that  reason — partly — that  he  sallied  forth 
"spreading  the  light";  for  that,  and  because 
the  Anarchist  Club  was  the  very  worst  place  he 
knew  for  borrowing  in. 

So  he  brought  fresh  material.  He  brought 
one  Billy  Snider,  a  furtive  person  with  an  elusive 
squint  and  a  curious  property  of  looking  smaller 
than  he  really  was,  though  he  was  not  large 
at  best.     Billy  Snider,  it  seemed,  was  an  "in- 

157 


GREEN    GINGER 


dividual  expropriator."  For  years  In  the  matter 
of  private  property  he  had  been  putting  Anar- 
chistic principles  into  practice  without  knowing 
it,  and  the  bloated  bourgeois  called  him  a  thief. 
He  had  derived  a  great  deal  of  consolation  and 
surprise  from  the  discoveiy,  drawn  from 
Sotcher's  discourse,  that  he  was  In  reality  a 
pioneer  of  human  regeneration,  working  to  an 
heroic  purpose. 

Sotcher  also  brought  a  certain  Joe  Budd,  a 
very  large  man  of  much  muscular  development, 
with  a  face  like  knotted  timber  and  a  black  eye 
that  was  sometimes  the  right  and  sometimes  the 
left,  and  occasionally  double,  but  always  there. 
Mr.  Budd  was  not  understood  to  be  partial  to 
any  particular  profession,  and  the  beer  required 
for  his  sustenance  had  hitherto  been  chiefly  con- 
tributed by  friends  who  preferred  to  see  him 
In  a  good  temper.  Sotcher  had  laid  his  account 
with  care,  for  if  Teddy  Mills  would  work  at 
his  trade  and  Billy  Snider  "expropriate"  out  of 
doors  for  the  benefit  of  the  community,  while 
Joe  Budd  kept  off  Inconvenient  Interference,  and 
terrorized  such  persons  as  broker's  men,  then 
Sotcher,  for  his  part,  was  ready  to  supply  all  the 
talk  the  enterprise  might  require. 

It  was  a  great  occasion  for  Sotcher,  when 
the  four  assembled  that  evening,  and  he  for 
the  first  time  addressed  a  group  that  was  all 
his  own. 

158 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Comrades!"  he  cried,  with  a  sweep  of  the 
arm  that  might  have  included  a  thousand,  "we 
are  'ere  to  open,  to  inaugurate,  or  as  I  may 
say  to  begin,  the  Social  Revolution !  In  this 
'ere  'umble  'ome  we  are  to  set  rollin'  the  ball 
that  shall  pave  the  way  for  the  up'eaval  of 
'umanity,  and,  spreadin'  its  wings  to  the  utter- 
most ends  of  the  earth,  write  its  name  in  letters 
of  fire  across  the  'eavens !  The  only  law  an' 
order  for  free  men  is  Anarchy!  We  shall  live 
'ere,  comrades,  in  perfeck  freedom  under  a 
brotherly  compact  that  won't  bind  nobody.  We 
shall  set  a  example  o'  free  life,  with  no  law  an' 
no  authority,  as  '11  open  the  eyes  o'  the  toilin' 
proletariat  an'  stir  them  to  copy  our  noble  pro- 
ceedin's,  an'  go  on  to  overthrow  the  p'llce  an' 
the  gover'ment,  an'  the  water-rates  an'  all  the 
disgustin'  machinery  of  organized  oppression!" 

"  'Ear,  'ear!"  cried  Teddy  Mills. 

"Our  watchword  shall  be  liberty,  an'  down 
with  privilege  an'  monopoly.  What  is  liberty, 
my  comrades?  Is  it  magistrates,  an'  prisons,  'an 
p'lice  at  the  corner  of  every  street?" 

"No!"  interjected  Billy  Snider  fervently. 

"It  is  not,  comrades.  The  police  is  the  pro- 
tector of  the  real  criminals,  the  plunderin'  so- 
called  upper  classes  !  Stands  to  reason  no  honest 
man  would  want  pertectin'  by  p'lice.  P'lice 
is  brute  force — the  brute  force  as  the  privileged 
classes    Is    'edged    theirselves    In    with;    paid 

159. 


GREEN    GINGER 


myrmidons  makin'  slaves  o'  the  people.  We 
don't  want  no  myrmidons,  do  we?"  ("No!" 
again  from  Billy).  "O'  course  not.  We'd 
disdain  to  be  seen  speakin'  to  'em.  Very  well, 
then,  what  does  anybody  else  want  with  'em? 
What  but  privilege  an'  monopoly?  We  will 
break  down  all  privilege  an'  monopoly!  Our 
comrade  'ere,  our  comrade  Billy  Snider,  has 
been  breakin'  down  monopolies  for  years.  Not 
on  a  grand  scale,  p'raps,  but  wherever  'e  could 
in  a  small  way,  an'  'e's  suffered  for  it.  In  fact 
'e's  not  long  out  from  six  months  for  breakin' 
down  some  bloated  capitalist's  monopoly  of  a 
gold  watch  an'  chain.  It's  property  as  is  the 
real  robbery,  an'  all  expropriators  are  our 
brothers.  We  now  begin  the  social  revolution, 
comrades.  Liberty  for  all,  voluntary  co-opera- 
tion, free  initiative,  free  contrack,  subject  to 
perpetual  change  an'  revision,  do  what  you  like 
an'  take  what  you  want — them's  our  principles, 
an'  our  only  law  is  that  there  is  no  laws.  I  'ave 
'ere  a  box  which  will  'old  the  money  of  the  com- 
munity, an'  I  begin  by  offerin'  it  to  comrade 
Mills,  who  will  'ave  the  honor  o'  bein'  the 
first  to  give  up  'is  private  ownership,  an'  placin' 
whatever  money  'e  'as  in  the  funds  of  the 
group." 

Teddy  Mills,  amid  encouraging  murmurs, 
dropped  into  the  box  the  sum  of  sixteen  shillings 
and  sevenpence;   a  large  part  of  it  would  be 

1 60 


GREEN    GINGER 


due,  next  Monday,  for  rent,  but  a  week's  rent 
is  not  a  thing  to  bother  about  when  you  are 
starting  a  revolution. 

Billy  Snider's  contribution  was  rather  less, 
and  Joe  Budd  was  discovered  to  have  suddenly 
fallen  asleep.  Being  with  much  difficulty 
aroused  he  promised  to  see  about  it  to-morrow; 
and,  showing  signs  of  unpleasant  irritation,  was 
allowed  to  lapse  into  slumber  once  more. 
Sotcher  produced  a  sixpence  and  three  pennies 
with  much  solemnity. 

"I  ain't  so  fortunate  as  you,  comrades,"  he 
explained,  "in  bein'  able  to  contribute  quite 
so  liberal,  but  sich  as  it  is  it  is  my  all,  an' 
give  freely.  All  the  more  credit  to  me,  p'raps 
you'll  say,  comrades,  but  no — I  don't  claim  no 
more  merit  than  anybody  else  'ere.  There  it 
is,  give  freely.  Doubts  'ave  been  cast  on  the 
tanner,  though  only  by  slaves  of  the  capitalist, 
sich  as  barmen.  This  is  our  capital,  comrades, 
in  this  'ere  box,  an'  all  money  as  comes  in 
goes  to  it;  an'  what  anybody  wants  he  takes. 
We  won't  vote,  for  majority  tyranny  is  the 
worst  of  all  tyrannies,  but  I  suggest  we  begin 
by  gettin'  in  a  little  beer." 

The  suggestion  was  agreed  to,  and  with  the 
advent  of  the  beer,  Joe  Budd's  nap  terminated 
with  as  much  suddenness  as  it  had  begun. 

"I  like  your  speechmakin',"  observed  Billy 
Snider,  over  the  beer,  to  Sotcher.     ".You  put 

i6ii 


GREEN    GINGER 


It  fust  rate.  That  about  monopolies,  you 
know.  That's  my  principles,  but  I  couldn't  ha' 
put  it  so  'andsome.  An'  that  about  free 
contrack,  too,  an'  changin'  your  mind  when  you 
like." 

"One  o'  the  first  principles  of  Anarchy," 
remarked  Sotcher.  "Free  contrack  between  man 
an'  man,  perpetual  subjeck  to  revision  an'  can- 
cellation. It  is  forbidden  now  by  the  rule  of 
the  brutal  majority." 

"Yes — I  know  that,"  observed  Snider,  "an 
I've  suffered  for  it.  I  went  a-bookmakin'  once, 
to  Alexander's  Park  Races.  I  did  very  well 
an'  made  a  'ole  lot  o'  contracks,  layin'  the  odds; 
but  when  I'd  got  my  satchel  pretty  full  o'  the 
backers'  money,  an'  they  was  lookin'  at  the 
'orses,  an'  I  'ad  time  to  think  things  over,  why, 
I  changed  my  mind  about  the  contracks,  same 
as  anybody  might  do,  an'  started  to  go  'ome. 
Why  not?  But  the  brutal  majority  treated  me 
shameful.  Chucked  me  into  a  pond,  they  did, 
an'  I  'adn't  got  more'n  about  a  quarter  of  a  suit 
o'  clothes  to  go  'ome  in." 

"All  owin'  to  the  rotten  system  o'  s'clety," 
commented  Sotcher.  "The  rule  o'  the  majority's 
just  as  bad  as  any  other  rule;  but  there's  to 
be  no  rule  an'  no  majority  now — no  commerce 
an'  profit-huntin' ;  free  exchange,  free  every- 
thing!" 

"That's  what  I've  been  lookin'  for  for  a  long 

i6% 


GREEN    GINGER 


time,"  said  Joe  Budd  fervently,  and  finished 
his  pot. 

It  is  impossible  to  set  going  an  entirely  new 
system  of  life  without  a  little  friction,  and  the 
friction  began  at  bed-time.  There  was  only 
one  bed  in  the  place,  and  Billy  Snider,  having 
with  much  foresight  discovered  this  fact  in  time, 
went  to  bed  first,  unostentatiously.  When  this 
treachery  became  apparent,  Joe  Budd's  righteous 
indignation  was  worthy  of  the  occasion.  He 
took  the  slumbering  betrayer  of  the  rights  of 
man  by  a  leg  and  an  arm,  and  hauled  him  out  on 
the  floor. 

"D'ye  call  this  equal  rights,"  he  demanded. 
"You  sleepin'  comf'table  in  a  bed,  an'  us  on  the 
floor?  Ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yerself.  You 
ain't  got  no  more  rights  in  that  bed  than  we  'ave; 
'an  as  I  pulled  you  out  I'm  goin'  to  sleep  In  it." 
Which  he  did. 

In  the  morning  it  was  perceived  that  Billy 
Snider  had  risen  early  and  gone  out. 

"Gone  on  a  job,"  commented  Sotcher.  "Hope 
he'll  bring  back  something  good." 

At  this  moment  Joe  Budd,  whose  hand  had 
strayed  carelessly  over  the  edge  of  the  money- 
box as  it  lay  on  its  shelf,  uttered  a  gasp, 
and  pulled  down  the  box  bodily.  It  was 
empty ! 

Joe  Budd's  opinion  of  Billy  Snider  when  he 
pulled  him  out  of  bed  was  mere  flattery  to  the 

163 


GREEN    GINGER 


opinion  he  expressed  now.  He  kept  at  it  so 
long  that  at  length  Teddy  Mills  took  up  a 
pair  of  boots  that  were  partly  mended  and  set 
to  work  to  finish  them.  The  sight  of  Teddy's 
industry  somewhat  calmed  Joe,  and  presently  he 
asked:  "How  long  '11  you  be  getting  them 
done?" 

"Not  more'n  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  Teddy 
estimated. 

"Right,"  returned  Joe,  sitting  down  and 
feeling  for  his  pipe.  "I'll  take  'em  'ome  for 
you." 

But  here  Sotcher  interposed.  "Don't  you 
bother,  comrade,"  he  said;  "they  mightn't 
know  you.     I'll  take  'em  'ome." 

"No,"  replied  Joe,  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  looking  very  squarely  into  Sotcher's 
eyes.    "I  bet  you  won't." 

Sotcher  let  it  stand  at  that,  and  resigned  him- 
self to  watch  Teddy's  work.  When  it  was  done, 
and  the  largest  sum  that  could  possibly  be 
charged  was  decided  on,  Joe  Budd  was  given 
precise  directions  to  find  the  chandler's  shop 
where  the  boots  were  due,  and  departed  with 
them  under  his  arm. 

"Comrade  Joe  Budd,"  observed  Sotcher,  gaz- 
ing thoughtfully  at  the  ceiling,  "is  a  noble  soul, 
as  every  friend  o'  the  social  revolution  must  be. 
But  from  the  point  o'  view  o'  the  group,  p'raps 
it's  a  pity  'e  took  them  boots  'ome." 

164 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Why,"  asked  Teddy,  "  'e  won't  stick  to  the 
money,  will  'e?" 

"Stick  to  it?  No — not  stick  to  it;  not  stick 
to  it  long,  anyway.  But  'e's  a  noble,  impulsive 
soul,  an'  liable  to  get  thirsty  very  sudden.  An' 
'e  deals  very  free  an'  large,  as  regards  thirst." 
But  Mr.  Budd's  thirst  was  destined  to  be 
unrelieved  as  yet.  In  five  minutes  he  burst  into 
the  room  in  a  state  of  exacerbated  ill-temper,  and 
exhibited  strong  signs  of  a  desire  to  catch  Teddy 
Mills  by  the  throat.  Teddy  took  up  a  position 
behind  a  table,  with  dodging-room  on  either 
hand. 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  demanded  Joe  Budd. 
"What  d'ye  mean  by  sendin'  me  out  for  nothin'  ? 
The  chap  at  the  chandler's  shop's  been  an'  took 
it  off  your  bill,  an'  'e  says  you  owe  'im  one  'an 
ninepence  ha'penny  besides!" 

"Does  'e?"  Teddy  answered  blankly,  "It's 
very  likely.  My  wife  used  to  run  a  bill  with 
'im,  but  I  didn't  know  'ow  it  stood." 

Here  Mr.  Budd  was  aware  of  something  very 
like  a  chuckle  from  Sotcher. 

"What?"  he  exclaimed,  turning  his  wrath 
in  a  new  direction;  "laughin',  was  ye?  Laughin' 
at  me?  Call  that  liberty,  I  s'pose?  All  right 
— gimme  that  'at." 

Sotcher's  hat  was  a  sad  thing,  but  he  wore  it 
indoors  and  out  as  an  expression  of  contempt 
for  social  forms.     Joe  Budd  snatched  it  from 

i6j 


GREEN    GINGER 


his  head,  and  drove  out  the  dent  in  the  crown 
with  a  punch  of  his  fist. 

"You  talce  a  liberty  with  me,"  he  said,  "an' 
I'll  take  one  with  you — that's  equal  rights.  I'll 
expropriate  this  'ere  'at,  an'  swop  it  for  the  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece — that's  free  exchange;  and 
if  I  'ave  any  o'  your  lip  you'll  get  a  free  punch 
on  the  nose !" 

And  therewith,  carrying  the  clock  under  his 
arm,  Mr.  Joe  Budd  walked  out  for  the  day. 

It  was  a  dull  day's  work  for  Teddy  Mills, 
spite  of  Sotcher's  eloquence.  Sotcher  explained 
that  little  difficulties  were  inevitable  in  the  early 
stages  of  so  glorious  an  undertaking  as  theirs, 
but  that  things  would  go  more  smoothly  every 
hour.  Late  in  the  evening  Joe  Budd  returned, 
very  red  in  the  face,  a  trifle  thick  in  the  voice, 
but  noisy  and  argumentative  withal. 

He  took  the  money-box  from  the  shelf  and 
shook  it  contemptuously.  "Empty,  o'  course," 
he  said.  "You  two  ain't  done  much  for  this; 
'ere  community  to-day,  but  I  will." 

He  dropped  a  pawn-ticket  into  the  box,  and 
put  it  down  before  them.  "That's  the  ticket  for 
the  clock,"  he  pursued;  "all  there  is  in  the  box. 
Seems  to  me  you  expect  me  to  keep  this  'ere 
show  goin'  all  by  myself.  Well,  any'ow  I  done 
my  share  to-day — where's  my  supper?" 

He  glared  from  Teddy  Mills  to  Sotcher,  and 
back  to  Teddy  again.     But  with  that  his  atten- 

i66 


GREEN    GINGER 


tion   was    drawn    in    another   direction   by   the 
stealthy  entrance  of  Billy  Snider. 

Snider  slid  in  quietly,  though  with  an  elabor- 
ate air  of  careless  indifference.  Joe  sprang  up 
and  seized  him  by  the  arm.  "Where's  that 
money?"  demanded  the  outraged  Budd. 

"Money?  What  money?"  asked  Billy,  with 
much  innocent  surprise. 

"What  money?  You  know  what  money;  all 
the  money;  the  money  in  the  box!" 

Billy  Snider  wriggled  uncomfortably  and 
looked  from  one  to  another.  "In  the  box?  Oh, 
that?  Well,  I  wanted  it,  you  know,  so  I  just 
took  it — like  we  arranged." 

"Like  we — like  we Why,  you  took  it 

all!" 

"Yes,  I  know.     I  wanted  it  all." 

Joe  Budd  wasted  no  more  words,  but  swung 
Billy  Snider  across  the  room,  and  pushed  him 
backward  over  the  table.  "You  turn  out  yer 
pockets,"  he  commanded,  "or  I'll  tear  'em  out 
o'  your  trousers  an'  bash  you  arterwards.  Go 
on  !    Turn  'em  inside  out !" 

Billy  Snider  glanced  towards  the  other  com- 
rades, but  saw  no  encouragement.  Very  grudg- 
ingly he  extracted  several  shillings  and  a  few 
coppers  from  one  trouser  pocket  and  put  them 
on  the  table. 

"Goon!    Out  with  the  rest !" 

With  another  reluctant  effort,   Billy   added 

167 


y 

GREEN    GINGER 

some  more  shillings;  but  Joe,  with  a  preference 
for  quicker  business,  thrust  his  fingers  into  his 
victim's  waistcoat  pockets  with  no  reluctance 
whatever,    and   there    found   three   sovereigns  1 

"Three  quid!"  cried  Joe.  "Look  at  that! 
An'  last  night  'e  'adn't  got  fifteen  bob  to  pay 
into  the  funds !" 

He  released  Billy  and  turned  from  one  com- 
rade to  another  a  look  of  grieved  surprise. 
"Seems  to  me  I've  bin  made  a  victim  of  in  this 
'ere  business,"  he  said.  "You're  all  in  it,  I 
b'lieve.  Well,  well — I  won't  appoint  myself 
treasurer,  'cos  that  'ud  be  officialism  an'  au- 
thority, an'  agin  the  sacred  principles  of 
anarchy;  I  won't  be  treasurer,  but  I  will  take 
care  o'  the  money.  Where's  my  supper?"  he 
proceeded,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  wrath.  "  'Ere 
you,  Mr.  Bloomin'  Jawmedead,  take  that,  an' 
get  my  supper !" 

It  was  Sotcher  who  was  addressed,  and  "that" 
was  a  vigorous  bang  in  the  eye.  Sotcher 
staggered  and  gasped,  and,  with  a  tender  hand 
over  the  bruised  feature  began  a  noisy  protest 
based  on  the  rights  of  sovereign  humanity. 

"Rights?"  retorted  Joe  Budd;  "it's  equal 
rights  for  all,  ain't  it?  Very  well,  I've  punched 
you  in  the  eye — you've  got  just  as  much  right 
to  punch  me.  Goin'  to?  Eh?  Ain't  you? 
'Cos  if  you  ain't,  go  an'  get  my  supper.  That's 
voluntary   co-operation,    that   is.      'Anarchy   is 

i68 


GREEN    GINGER 


order'  is  what  you  told  me  yerself,  an'  I'm  goin' 
to  'ave  my  orders  carried  out  'ere.  I  ain't  agoin' 
to  belong  to  a  free  community  an'  be  done  out 
o'  my  rights.  This  'ere's  a  brother'ood  of  free 
initiative,  whether  you  like  it  or  no !" 

Late  that  night,  when  Joe  Budd  had  retired 
in  state  to  the  bed  that  had  been  Teddy's,  Billy 
Snider  suggested  the  propriety  of  a  simultaneous 
attack  on  the  common  oppressor.  But  Sotcher, 
still  tenderly  fingering  the  black  eye,  was  sure 
that  his  principles  would  never  permit  him  to 
participate  in  an  act  involving  the  Tyranny  of 
the  Majority. 

And  in  the  morning  it  was  found  that  Billy 
Snider  had  risen  early  again.  He  had  not  inter- 
fered with  the  box  this  time,  for  the  pawn-ticket 
lay  undisturbed.  But  Joe  Budd,  swathed  in  a 
blanket,  came  downstairs  in  a  typhoon  of  violent 
language,  to  announce  that  his  clothes  were  all 
gone,  with  the  money  in  the  pockets. 

Now  it  chanced  that  Joe  Budd's  was  the  best 
suit  of  clothes  in  the  house,  while  Sotcher's 
would  never  have  paid  for  carrying  off.  But 
although  Sotcher's  clothes  were  left,  and  not  a 
rag  the  worse,  it  was  observed  that  he  paled 
instantly  at  the  announcement  of  Billy's  second 
evasion,  and  clapped  his  hands  to  his  pockets. 
There  were  some  seconds  of  agonized  and  con- 
torted investigation,  and  then  the  orator  straight- 
way vanished  into  the  outer  street;  whence  he 

169 


GREEN    GINGER 


returned  in  five  minutes  in  company  with  that 
foe  of  all  his  dearest  principles — a  policeman. 

"I've  bin  robbed  in  this  'ouse,"  Sotcher  com- 
plained clamorously.  "I've  bin  robbed  o'  two 
pound  one  an'  four  in  this  'ouse,  an'  I'll  'ave 
the  lor  of  somebody!  That's  the  master  o'  the 
'ouse,  constable,  an'  'is  name's  Mills.  Ain't  'e 
responsible?  I've  .bin  robbed  in  this  'ouse,  I 
tell  you,  an'  I  won't  stand  it.  'E's  responsible  in 
the  eye  o'  the  lor!  Two  pound  one  an'  four  was 
in  my  pockets,  an'  while  there's  lor  an'  magis- 
trates an'  p'lice  in  the  country  I  mean  to  'ave  my 
rights.    There's  the  man  o'  the  'ouse,  constable !" 

Boys  came  running,  and  women  with  aprons 
over  their  heads  :  and  the  Rodd  Street  revolution 
wound  up  ignobly  in  a  street  row  of  the  most 
ordinary  Bethnal  Green  type,  the  centre  whereof 
was  marked  by  the  towering  helmet  of  the 
policeman,  about  which  swirled  the  excited  forms 
of  Teddy  Mills,  Alfred  Sotcher,  and  a  large  and 
violent  man  in  a  blanket.  While  in  the  distance 
was  perceived  the  rapidly  approaching  form  of 
Mrs.  Mills,  who  had  heard  rumors  of  strange 
doings  at  the  home  she  had  left  temporarily,  with 
a  view  of  giving  her  husband  a  salutary  shock, 
and  was  now  most  vigorously  resolved  to  go  and 
investigate  matters  for  herself. 


170 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  LIGHT 

A  FANTASY 

IF  I  cannot  tell  a  tale  of  a  haunted  house  In 
which  I  have  lived,  nor  even  of  one  in  which 
I  have  passed  a  night  of  trembling  adven- 
ture (and  indeed  neither  experience  has  been 
my  fortune),  I  at  least  know  enough  of  the 
strange  case  of  Missel  Hall  to  be  able  to  present 
it  in  its  completeness,  or  at  any  rate  in  as  much 
of  its  completeness  as  will  ever  be  known,  and 
with  an  accuracy  to  which,  I  believe,  few  other 
persons  could  pretend. 

The  house  is  fairly  large,  as  one  might  expect 
from  its  title;  yet  not  altogether  so  large  as 
one  may  sometimes  see  a  "hall,"  for,  indeed, 
the  name  is  given  rather  loosely  in  Essex  to 
almost  any  house  of  the  least  pretension.  Where- 
fore it  must  be  remembered  that  Missel  Hall  is 
not  such  a  hall  as  some  I  have  seen — like  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  Park  Lane  with  a  terrace 
before  it — nor  is  it  a  mere  farmhouse,  like 
Tarpots  Hall.  It  was,  and  is,  no  more  nor 
less  than  a  comfortably  large  house,  just  large 
enough  for  its  advancing  ends  to  be  called  wings. 
It  stood  in  a  comparatively  bare  part  of  the 

171 


GREEN    GINGER 


commonly  well-grown  county  of  Essex,  and  on 
a  slight  elevation,  which  looked  across  a  little 
common,  or  heath,  that  was  unusually  flat  for 
that  same  county,  which  the  ignorant  stranger 
believes  to  be  flat  everywhere. 

When  I  called  the  house  comfortably  large, 
I  meant  that,  and  nothing  more.  That  is  to 
say,  so  far  as  size  might  give  comfort.  Missel 
Hall  had  it;  but  so  far  as  a  plague  of  ghosts 
and  their  terrors  might  abolish  comfort.  Missel 
Hall  was  the  most  uncomfortable  house  in  the 
county.  Once  more  I  pick  my  words  with  care. 
The  Hall  was  the  most  uncomfortable  house  in 
the  county,  before  it  received  its  last  tenants; 
soon  after  their  arrival  the  more  active  troubles 
ceased,  and  the  whole  ghostly  peculiarities  of  the 
place  settled  down  into  one — silent  and  weird. 
There  was  a  room  which  had  a  light  of  its 
own. 

It  was  not  a  mere  point  of  light — a  ghostly 
candle,  "corpse-light,"  or  anything  of  that  sort — 
but  a  wan,  sickly  luminousness  that  filled  the 
whole  apartment.  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  it 
persisted  night  and  day,  though  bright  daylight 
made  it  imperceptible;  for  as  soon  as  the  light 
began  to  fail,  and  even  at  midday,  when  a  heavy 
thundercloud  turned  noon  to  twilight,  the  pale 
light  grew  visible  through  the  one  window  of 
the  haunted  room,  and  persisted,  through  night 
or  storm,  till  full  sunlight  outstared  it. 

172 


GREEN    GINGER 


To  see  the  house  from  the  heath,  standing 
black  and  desolate  like  a  rock  against  the  evening 
sky,  with  its  one  eye  of  unearthly  light,  was 
uncanny  enough,  but  perhaps  the  effect  was 
heightened  when  other  windows  showed  the 
warm  light  of  common  lamps;  for  the  contrast 
was  striking,  and  no  stranger  could  have  passed 
without  a  twinge  of  surprise  and  wonder  at 
the  spectral  light  of  the  single  high  window  in 
the  east  wing,  I  have  heard  people  confess  to 
a  chilliness  of  scalp  and  spine  at  the  sight. 
There  was  never  another  house  in  Essex  be- 
devilled exactly  in  this  way,  though  I  think  I 
remember  to  have  heard  some  talk  of  a  case 
rather  like  it  in  a  western  county. 

But  this  strange  light,  as  I  have  said,  was 
not  seen  till  after  the  arrival  of  the  last  tenants 
of  Missel  Hall,  Before  then  the  whole  place 
had  been  given  over  to  ghostly  disturbances  of 
many  sorts;  with  the  arrival  of  the  Quilter 
family  these  suddenly  ceased,  and  were  immedi- 
ately succeeded  by  this,  a  phenomenon  wholly 
unprecedented,  and.  It  would  seem,  less  capable 
of  explanation  than  any  that  had  gone  before. 

The  house  was  an  old  one,  and  hitherto  all 
its  ghostly  appointments  had  been  strictly  correct 
and  according  to  proper  fashion  and  precedent. 
In  course  of  time,  it  is  true,  they  had  grown 
so  numerous  as  to  make  the  house  difficult  to 
live    in,    for   persons    of   any   nerves    but    the 

173 


GREEN    GINGER 


strongest,  and  in  the  end  they  had  caused  the 
place  to  stand  empty  for  some  years;  but  there 
was  nothing  irregular — everything  was  perfectly 
in  good  form  and  (blessed  phrase)  comme  il 
faut.  There  were : 

Rappings. 

Rumblings. 

Shrieks  with  bumps. 

Shrieks   plain. 

Furniture  ill-used. 

Ghosts  with  large  eyes. 
Do.    without  heads. 

Heads  with  nothing  else. 

Eyes  unappropriated. 

Demoniac  laughter. 

A  smell  of  Sulphur. 

Do.  Brimstone  (without  treacle) . 
All  being,  as  you  will  perceive,  phenomena 
of  well  established  respectability  and  proved 
credence,  as  the  learned  are  aware,  from  the 
writings  of  Cornelius  Agrippa  and  Mr.  Stead. 
There  were  other  manifestations  also,  a  little 
outside  the  limits  of  the  regular  schedule,  though 
not  so  far  from  it  as  the  strange  light  in  the 
east  wing.  Thus  it  was  testified  by  Mrs.  Emma 
Skinner,  a  charwoman  employed  to  clean  the 
premises,  that  on  shortly  returning  to  a  room 
where  she  had  just  completed  her  work,  she 
found  mysterious  inscriptions  scrawled  with  the 
points  of  ghostly  fingers  on  windows,  sideboards, 

174 


GREEN    GINGER 


mantelpiece,  floor,  walls — and  in  short  wherever 
she  had  forgotten  to  dust,  and  that  mocking 
laughter  followed  her  as  she  fled  in  terror,  the 
sounds  intensifying  to  an  appalling  uproar,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  horrified  Emma  believed 
she  could  distinguish  her  own  Christian  name, 
preceded  by  the  exclamation  "Whoa  !"  as  though 
to  call  her  back.  Needless  to  say  she  did  not 
pause  in  her  flight,  and  arrived  at  last  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  Benton,  the  agent  for  the  property, 
breathless,  and  only  so  far  capable  of  speech  as 
to  demand  brandy  and  water  and  a  week's  pay 
in  lieu  of  notice. 

As  to  the  more  regular  phenomena  there  were 
scores  of  people  who  could  testify  to  hearing 
noises,  and  dozens  who  had  seen  the  ghosts; 
white  ladies,  misty  old  gentlemen  in  wigs  and 
top-boots,  at  least  one  white  man  in  armor; 
and  there  were  several  shapes  of  animal  form. 
Indeed  the  last  appearance  recorded,  on  the 
authority  of  Mr.  Wilkins,  dairyman  and  pur- 
veyor of  milk  in  the  adjoining  village,  was  of 
this  character. 

It  appears  that  Mr.  Wilkins,  learning  that 
Missel  Hall  was  let  at  last,  entered  the  grounds 
and  approached  the  main  door  with  the  intention 
of  leaving  his  business  card  on  the  step.  Arrived 
on  the  spot,  however,  he  found  that  the  door 
had  been  left  ajar,  probably  by  the  neglect  of 
somebody  who  had  been  engaged  in  preparing 

175 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  house  for  the  reception  of  the  new  tenants. 
He  entered,  therefore,  with  the  idea  of  leaving 
the  card  on  a  mantelpiece,  where  it  would  be 
more  likely  to  attract  notice. 

The  evening  was  closing  in,  but  It  was  not 
yet  dusk.  Mr.  Wilkins  was  in  a  perfectly  calm 
frame  of  mind,  not  in  any  way  predisposed  to 
hallucination,  being  intent,  indeed,  on  the  recent 
scandalous  price  of  turnips.  He  entered  the 
nearest  room,  deposited  his  card  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  was  turning  to  go,  when  his  attention 
was  arrested  by  three  distinct  raps  apparently 
coming  from  the  wall  behind  him.  He  turned 
quickly,  and  beheld  what  seemed  to  be  a  light 
vapor,  or  steam,  rising  in  the  form  of  a  column 
in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room.  It  rose  and 
thickened  till  it  attained  the  size,  as  he  after- 
wards expressed  it,  of  a  sixteen-gallon  churn. 
Then  this  misty  column  suddenly  fell  forward 
in  his  direction,  causing  him  to  back  hurriedly 
to  the  door.  For  the  next  few  minutes  Mr. 
Wilkins  wholly  forgot  the  price  of  turnips,  for 
■his  whole  mind  and  emotions  were  engaged 
in  the  fearful  contemplation  of  one  of  the 
strangest  phenomena  recorded  in  the  history  of 
the  supernatural. 

The  column  fell  forward,  as  I  have  said,  and 
Mr.  Wilkins  gazed  spellbound  at  the  sight 
before  him.  For  the  misty  body,  a  column  no 
longer,  continued  to  decrease  In  size,  and  to  aS' 

176. 


GREEN    GINGER 


sume  the  general  appearance  of  some  bulky 
animal.  Larger  and  still  larger  it  grew,  till  it 
had  surpassed  the  size  of  a  sheep  and  even  that 
of  a  calf,  and  the  paralyzed  beholder  was  aware, 
not  only  of  indications  of  a  tail,  but  of  horns,  and 
between  the  horns  of  a  gradual  growth  of  two 
distinct  luminous  points.  With  this  last  horror, 
the  eyes,  the  spell  was  broken,  and  with  a  tearing 
effort  Mr.  Wilkins  sprang  through  the  doorway 
and  ran,  pursued  by  the  monstrous  phantom. 
He  ventured  to  glance  over  his  shoulder,  how- 
ever, as  he  reached  the  step  of  the  outer  door, 
and  it  seemed  that  already  the  spectre  had  begun 
to  diminish  in  size.  No  longer  did  it  seem  of  the 
bulk,  and  somewhat  of  the  aspect,  of  a  cow,  but 
to  be  gradually  resuming  its  former  shape — a 
column. 

Somewhat  recovering  his  courage,  Mr.  Wil- 
kins continued  to  run  across  the  drive,  till 
another  glance  over  his  shoulder  assured  him  that 
the  apparition  had  ceased  to  pursue  him,  and  was 
now  standing  stationary,  and  shrinking,  on  the 
terrace.  Mr.  Wilkins  dodged  behind  a  con- 
venient shrub  and  turned  at  bay.  Truly  indeed 
the  appearance  was  fast  diminishing.  The 
horrible  eyes  were  gone,  only  one  horn  remained, 
and  the  body  had  shrunk  to  a  mere  erect  column, 
the  height  of  a  man.  But  the  tail  hung  unaltered, 
stiffly  dependent  behind.  Still  the  change  went 
on  before  Mr,  Wilkins's  astonished  eyes,  till, 


GREEN    GINGER 


with  a  gasp  of  amazed  recognition,  he  found 
himself  gazing  at  a  spectral  pump. 

With  that  his  courage  returned,  and  he 
emerged  from  his  concealment;  for  to  a  respect- 
able dairyman,  who  sees  to  the  cleanliness  of  his 
premises,  no  object  is  more  familiar  than  a  pump, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  he  is  less  afraid 
of.  But  as  Mr.  Wilkins  advanced,  extending 
his  hand,  by  familiar  habit,  toward  the  pump- 
handle,  so  the  ghostly  object  faded  and  thinned 
away  to  nothing,  and  Mr.  Wilkins  found  himself 
standing  alone,  in  the  gathering  gloom,  before 
the  door  of  the  haunted  house. 

Nothing  more  was  observed  till  the  new 
tenants  were  completely  installed.  The  moving 
in  was  accompanied  by  many  strange  noises, 
however,  and  although  noises  are  common 
enough,  indeed  unavoidable,  in  any  house- 
moving,  the  noises  heard  on  this  occasion  were 
altogether  unusual.  There  were  no  rapipngs  nor 
dragging  of  chairs,  and  there  was  not  anywhere 
a  suggestion  of  laughter,  domoniac  or  otherwise; 
but  everybody  agreed  that  the  shrieks  were  ter- 
rible and  pitiful  to  hear. 

Fortunately  the  new  tenants  did  not  arrive 
till  the  disturbances  had  ceased;  for  Mr.  Benton, 
the  agent,  with  a  courteous  regard  for  their 
nerves  pleasant  to  meet  in  these  ungallant  days, 
had  refrained  from  mentioning  the  little  draw- 
backs from  which  Missel  Hall  suffered,  and  as 

178 


GREEN  GINGER 


the  Quilters  came  from  London  they  had  no 
other  means  of  learning. 

The  whole  of  the  active  Quilter  family  was 
female,  consisting  of  a  mother  and  five  daugh- 
ters. The  remaining  member  was  Mr.  Quilter, 
an  elderly  and  obese  gentleman  who  slept  be- 
tween meals  and  was  not  observed  to  pursue  any 
more  exciting  occupation.  The  ladies  could  not 
be  called  obese — unless  you  wished  to  be  impolite 
to  Mrs.  Quilter — and  they  wore  curious  sack- 
shaped  clothes.  Their  eyes  were  very  earnest 
and  their  hair  was  not  very  long  and  not  very 
short,  but  very  touzly  and  very  red.  They 
decorated  and  furnished  the  house — filled  it  top 
and  bottom,  except  for  one  little  unconsidered 
room — with  wonderful  furniture  and  amazing 
wall-papers,  all  of  a  sort  that  I  have  heard  called 
the  product  of  the  New  Art.  The  chairs  were 
made  of  square  oak  planks,  with  stencil-holes 
like  fireworks  in  their  backs.  All  the  tables 
straddled  their  legs  wide  to  snare  the  feet 
of  the  heedless.  There  was  a  sideboard  with 
pewter  rockets  inlaid  all  over  it,  and  a  balloon 
of  blue  enamel  at  the  summit  of  each  rocket. 

The  dining-room  was  papered  with  a  cheerful 
pattern  of  green  stag-beetles  a  foot  long,  with 
yellow  legs,  crawling  perpendicularly  up  a  rich 
crimson  ground.  The  drawing-room,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  of  a  bold  yellow  tint,  dotted  at 
wide  intervals  with  very  elegant  brown  cauli- 

179 


GREEN    GINGER 


flowers,  each  with  a  graceful  fringe  of  curly 
tentacles,  like  the  legs  of  an  octopus,  reaching 
out  to  its  neighbor.  Curly  tentacles,  in  fact, 
formed  the  chief  motive  of  all  the  decoration — 
tentacles  with  flaccid  curves  like  those  of  an 
expiring  boa  constrictor. 

The  tentacles  were  everywhere.  They 
drooped  and  crawled  over  a  pewter  clock  with 
three  bowed  legs  and  a  square  face  on  the  morn- 
ing-room mantelpiece.  They  squirmed  so  thick 
on  the  lids  of  the  silver  toilet-boxes  on  the 
dressing-tables  that  I  have  seen  nothing  like  it 
since  I  went  fishing  as  a  little  boy,  with  worms  in 
a  canister.  You  found  yourself  unconsciously 
prancing  on  tip-toe  across  the  wriggling  carpet — 
instinctive  survival  of  man's  primeval  repulsion 
from  the  serpent.  The  tentacles  came  at  you 
round  corners,  threatened  you  from  behind  doors 
— wormed  about  on  your  dinner-plate.  On  any 
piece  of  furniture  you  might  choose  to  handle 
you  would  find  unexpected  projections  and  sur- 
prising outworks,  each  with  its  curly  tentacle,  and 
probably  a  piece  of  inexplicable  copper  or  pew- 
ter, with  tentacles  of  its  own.  And  through  it 
all  Mr.  Quilter  slept  undisturbed,  and  his  daugh- 
ters played  on  a  green  oak  piano  with  pewter 
pot-hooks  and  hangers  lovingly  inlaid  all  over  it, 
and  all  was  peace  and  New  Art. 

And  now,  with  the  advent  of  the  Quilter 
family,  the  whole  supernatural  history  of  Missel 

1 80 


GREEN    GINGER 


Hall  culminated  In  the  amazing  spectacle  of  the 
Luminous  Room.  No  more  did  mysterious 
noises  and  strange  sights  disturb  the  repose  of 
the  dwellers,  but  that  strange  pale  light  shone  out 
from  the  high  attic,  otherwise  empty,  and  de- 
clared the  ghostly  fame  of  Missel  Hall  to  every 
watcher  of  the  night. 

At  first  the  Quilters — except  Mr.  Quilter,  who 
was  asleep — were  seriously  disturbed  by  the  dis- 
covery; and  ere  long,  as  was  natural,  their 
anxious  Inquiries  brought  them  Information  of 
the  earlier  history  of  their  house.  But  days  and 
nights  went  on  and  nothing  occurred  to  justify 
their  fears — there  was  nothing  but  that  weird 
light  in  the  empty  attic,  which  gave  them  no 
inconvenience  at  all.  So  that  soon  they  grew 
rather  proud  of  the  phenomenon,  and  brought 
their  friends  to  see  It.  One  or  two  bold  spirits 
among  these  friends  ventured  into  the  luminous 
chamber  by  night;  and  the  reports  of  each  visit 
agreed  precisely  with  the  others.  The  strange 
light  pervaded  the  whole  room — all  agreed  on 
this  point.  It  was  like  no  light  any  witness  had 
ever  seen;  persons  standing  in  It  were  plainly 
enough  visible  to  each  other,  but  with  a  pallor 
and  a  certain  dimness  of  outline  that  admitted 
but  of  one  description:  they  looked  like  ghosts. 
Indeed  It  would  seem  as  though  the  illumination 
did  not  consist  of  light,  as  human  experience 
knows  it,  but  rather  of  something  which  not  only 

i8l 


GREEN    GINGER 


lighted  persons  and  objects  In  the  room  but  also 
interposed  between  them. 

Withal,  It  cast  no  shadow.  This  was,  perhaps, 
its  most  remarkable  quality.  If  one  carried  a 
candle  into  the  room  the  objects  it  lighted  cast 
their  shadows  in  a  natural  way,  though,  of 
course,  owing  to  the  pervading  lumlnousness  the 
shadows  were  very  feeble.  But  without  any  such 
artificial  light  no  shadow  was  thrown,  of  any- 
thing, anywhere.  The  light,  whatever  It  was, 
was  all-pervading.  And  whatever  it  was  It  so 
affected  the  atmosphere  that  it  was  difficult  to 
breathe  therein. 

The  Misses  Quilter  became  ardent  spiritual- 
ists. They  brought  expert  friends  from  London, 
who  arranged  seances  In  the  astonishingly  fur- 
nished rooms,  and  accomplished  nothing.  The 
failure  was  unprecedented,  and  the  experts  were 
wholly  at  fault.  Not  a  table  would  move,  not 
a  mark  would  appear  on  a  slate — and  that  in  this 
ancient  haunt  of  spectres.  Missel  Hall!  The 
science  of  spiritualism  was  shaken  to  its  founda- 
tions. 

After  much  anxious  consultation  the  experts 
resolved  on  a  fresh  expedient,  and  thereby  made 
possible  one  of  the  most  curious  demonstrations 
recorded  in  the  history  of  their  craft.  At  the 
head  of  a  small  sheet  of  paper  the  question  was 
written:  What  causes  the  U^ht  in  the  east  wing 
atticf    This  paper,  with  a  pencil,  was  enclosed 

182 


GREEN    GINGER 


in  a  small  box,  and  the  box  was  placed  inside  the 
lighted  room  and  there  left,  with  the  door  shut. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  box  was  with- 
drawn, and,  the  paper  being  examined,  it  was 
found  to  carry  below  the  question  the  almost 
illegibly  scrawled  word :  Terror. 

A  fresh  paper  was  prepared  with  the 
amended  question :  What  is  the  light  f 

By  the  same  process,  and  after  a  similar  inter- 
val, another  reply  was  elicited.  This  time  it 
read,  somewhat  ungrammatically:  Only  us. 
Crowded  like — (remainder  illegible). 

This  reply  caused  much  interest  and  excite- 
ment among  the  experts.  A  fresh  question  was 
prepared  and  answered,  and  others  after  that, 
as  are  transcribed  below. 

Question. — Do  you  mean  you  are  the  ghosts 
that  haunt  this  house? 

Answer. — Yes.  We  apologize.  Take  them 
away  (illegible  words  follow). 

Q. — Please  answer  more  clearly. 

A. — Take  them  away.  We  are  squashed  into 
a  mass  and  terrified  to  death.  We  really  do 
apologize! 

Q. — For  what  do  you  apologize? 

A. — Everything.  Anything.  Only  take  them 
away.  We  apologize  for  haunting  this  house  and 
frightening  people.  We  will  never  do  it  again; 
we  have  been  frightened  too  much  ourselves. 
We've  all  gone  through  a  good  deal,  but  never 

183 


GREEN    GINGER 


anything  like  this.  We  can't  stand  it.  There's 
only  this  room  left,  and  we  are  crowded  solid. 
We  dare  not  come  out.    It  is  terrible. 

Q. — What  terrifies  you? 

A. — All  of  it!  Furniture!  Snakes!  Fireworks ! 
Cauliflowers!  Tentacles!  Curlywigs!  Jim-jams! 
Sacks  and  touzly  wigs!  Pray  do  something  for 
us. 

Q. — What  must  we  do? 

A,  (an  almost  undecipherable  mass  of  ragged 
scrawls,  apparently  from  many  different  hands  in 
all  sorts  of  directions  on  both  sides  of  paper). — 
Take  them  away  .  .  .  Benton  .  .  .  raise  rent 
.  .  .  Apologize.  .  .  .  Never  frighten  people 
any  more.  .  .  .  Know  what  it  is  ourselves  now 
.  .  .  never  expected  this.  .  .  .  Worse  things 
than  us.  .  .  .  Help!  Police  .  .  .  (rest  wholly 
illegible). 

These  mysterious  words  are  all  the  explana- 
tion extant  of  the  amazing  phenomenon  of  the 
Luminous  Room.  Answers  to  succeeding  ques- 
tions were  wholly  unreadable,  and  in  the  end  the 
experts  gave  up  their  attempts  to  unravel  the 
mystery. 

It  is  a  fact,  nevertheless,  that  since  the  Quilters 
have  left  Missel  Hall  (they  have  been  gone  six 
months  now)  the  strange  light  has  wholly  dis- 
appeared from  the  attic  and  it  has  not  been 
followed  by  any  of  the  more  ordinary  terrors 
which  preceded  it;  a  fact  that,  it  is  said,  will 

184 


GREEN    GINGER 


shortly  be  cited  in  a  paper  to  be  read  before  a 
spiritualistic  congress  and  adduced  as  a  proof 
that  ghosts  may  be  relied  on  to  keep  their 
promises,  even  when  extorted  under  stress  of 
deadly  terror. 


i8s 


MR.  BOSTOCK'S  BACK- 
SLIDING 

IT  Is  a  terribly  easy  thing  to  fall  into — imper- 
ceptibly to  glide  into — evil-doing;  and  once 
embarked  on  the  slippery  descent,  there  is  no 
telling  how  low  one  may  descend.  This,  the 
moral  of  the  story  of  Mr.  Bostock,  is,  in  ac- 
cordance with  modern  practice,  placed  at  the 
beginning  of  the  story  instead  of  at  the  end, 
which  our  grandfathers  considered  the  proper 
place.  Nowadays  we  get  the  moral  over  and  out 
of  the  way  as  soon  as  possible,  and  find  it  good 
riddance. 

Mr,  Bostock  was  a  person  of  that  peculiar 
stainlessness  which  is  only  to  be  observed  in  a 
London  suburb  of  the  highest  respectability, 
always  in  association  with  the  precisely  correct 
clothes  for  every  occasion,  and  a  comfortable  in- 
come derived  somehow  from  the  City.  He  was 
no  longer  young,  nor  slim,  and  his  large,  clean- 
shaven countenance  carried  the  heavy  portentous- 
ness  noticeable  in  the  Strictly  Proper.  Regularity, 
Propriety,  Serene  Importance — these  words 
could  be  traced  across  his  white  waistcoat  and  his 
pink  face  as  distinctly  as  though  spelt  in  printed 
letters;  and  Severe  Respectability  shone  like  a 
halo  from  the  high  polish  of  his  crown. 

i86 


GREEN    GINGER 


Every  admirer  of  the  female  sex — every  dis- 
criminating person,  in  other  words — will  at  once 
perceive  that  there  was  a  Mrs.  Bostock  to  whom 
much  or  all  of  this  perfection  was  due;  indeed, 
the  ribald  of  his  suburb  ascribed  Mr.  Bostock's 
correctitude  to  simple  terror  of  his  wife.  This 
was  the  slander  of  vulgar  malice,  of  course,  but 
it  is  a  fact  that  Mrs.  Bostock  was  a  lady  well 
fitted  to  Inspire  terror  in  the  unregenerate;  and 
those  whom  she  regarded  as  her  social  inferiors 
— which  meant  very  nearly  everybody — had 
reason  to  quail  before  her  overbearing  majesty. 

Twenty-four  years  of  training  under  Mrs. 
Bostock's  severe  eye  had  endowed  Mr.  Bostock 
with  the  shining  qualities  so  vastly  respected  in 
his  suburb,  and  of  late  her  supervision  had  been 
reinforced  by  that  of  their  two  daughters,  now 
grown  up.  It  may  be  that  it  is  not  permitted 
to  mere  man  to  receive  a  greater  share  of  this 
sort  of  blessing  than  can  be  conferred  by  an 
energetic  wife  and  one  full-grown  daughter;  that 
the  gradual  accession  of  assistance  from  another 
daughter,  as  she  reaches  womanhood,  will  over- 
come the  fortitude  of  the  most  respectable.  It 
is  certain  that  Mr.  Bostock's  lapse  occurred 
shortly  after  Julia,  his  second  daughter — now 
arrived  near  marriageable  age — had  fully 
ranged  herself  by  the  side  of  her  mamma  and  her 
sister  in  the  direction  of  his  comportment. 

The  family  were  staying  at  the  seaside  at  the 

187 


GREEN    GINGER 


proper  period  of  late  summer,  and,  of  course,  at 
the  proper  place.  The  town  Is  already  sufficiently 
well  advertised,  so  here  I  shall  call  It  Scarbourne, 
which  is  not  In  the  least  like  Its  real  name. 
Everybody  will  readily  recognize  it,  however, 
from  the  circumstance  that  It  Is  the  most  genteel 
town  on  the  English  coast,  where  every  male 
visitor  positively  must  change  all  his  clothes  at 
least  three  times  a  day,  and  no  lady  must  be 
seen  to  wear  anything  twice.  Also,  the  promen- 
ade is  the  one  place  for  pedestrian  exercise,  and 
the  vulgar  act  of  walking  on  the  beach  Is  never 
condoned.  No  place  on  earth  basks  in  a  more 
sacred  odor  of  perfect  respectability  than  this 
blessed  spot,  with  nothing  to  mar  Its  bliss  but 
the  presence  of  a  vulgar  convict  prison  a  few 
miles  Inland,  and  the  fact  that  the  aproach  by 
railway  lies  through  another  seaside  town  of  the 
most  unpardonable  description,  where  parents 
paddle  on  the  sands  among  their  children,  and 
the  air  resounds  to  the  banjo  and  tambourine 
of  the  nefarious  nigger.  It  is  said  that  the 
Scarbourne  visitors  barely  forgave  the  King  for 
the  proximity  of  His  Majesty's  prison,  and  that 
only  in  consideration  of  his  social  position;  but 
the  railway  company  might  beg  forgiveness  in 
vain  for  bringing  their  line  through  Beachpool- 
on-Sea. 

Mr.  Bostock's  temptation  came  insidiously  yet 
suddenly,  giving  him  little  time  for  choice.  There 

l88 


GREEN    GINGER 


was  some  expectation  that  the  office  in  the  City, 
which  provided  the  means  for  Mr.  Bostock's 
respectability,  might  require  his  presence  for  a 
day  or  two  in  the  midst  of  his  vacation;  and 
there  was  hourly  expectation  of  a  telegram  from 
his  head  clerk  to  call  him.  Mr.  Bostock  was 
somewhat  puzzled,  almost  shocked,  to  detect 
himself  looking  forward  to  the  receipt  of  the 
telegram  with  something  vastly  like  pleasurable 
anticipation;  and  with  this  begins  the  tale  of 
his  backsliding. 

A  telegram  did  come,  immediately  after  break- 
fast on  a  brilliant  August  morning.  Mr.  Bostock 
tore  it  open  eagerly.  It  was  from  his  chief  clerk, 
indeed;  but — it  conveyed  the  news  that  the 
matter  in  question  had  been  satisfactorily  settled, 
and  that  Mr.  Bostock's  presence  in  London 
would  not  be  required.  Mr  .Bostock  sank  back 
in  his  easy-chair  in  a  frame  of  mind  which  he 
distinctly  recognized  as  one  of  gloomy  dejection. 

Mrs.  Bostock  and  her  daughters  were  dressing 
for  a  morning  drive  in  the  jobbed  carriage  that 
conveyed  them  everywhere,  except  for  the 
promenade  walk;  and  as  Mr.  Bostock  sat  back 
with  the  telegram  in  his  hand  his  wife  appeared, 
patting  and  smoothing  her  gloves. 

"Oh —  that  telegram  has  come,  then,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Bostock,  "Then  we'll  ask  Mrs. 
Berkeley  Wiggs  to  take  your  seat,  and  we'll 
drive  out  a  little  when  I've  done  some  shopping 
189 


GREEN    GINGER 


in  the  town.  I  suppose  you'll  catch  the  ten- 
thirteen?" 

Here  was  Mr.  Bostock's  temptation,  and  here 
began  his  fall.  "Y — yes !"  he  stammered, 
hastily,  crumpling  up  the  telegram  and  stuffing 
it  away  in  his  pocket.  "Yes !  I'll — I'll  catch  the 
ten-thirteen,  of  course.  Too  late  for  the  fast 
train,  of  course.  Of  course.  Yes,  my  dear — 
I'll  go  off  and  catch  the  ten-thirteen.  Don't 
bother  about  me — I'll  walk,  or  have  a  cab.  Yes 
— of  course,  I  must  catch  the  ten-thirteen!" 

A  very  easy  thing,  the  fall  of  Mr.  Bostock. 
You  will  observe  that  he  said  nothing  as  to  the 
contents  of  the  telegram — not  a  word.  Mrs. 
Bostock  assumed  that  the  message  was  the  one 
expected,  and  her  husband  merely  allowed  her 
the  assumption.  Almost  anybody  might  have 
done  the  same  thing — accidentally,  as  it  were. 
And,  in  fact,  Mr.  Bostock  hardly  realized  what 
he  had  done  till  Mrs.  Bostock  had  departed  in 
search  of  Mrs.  Berkeley  Wiggs;  the  most  recent 
accession  to  her  acquaintance,  and  Socially 
Immense. 

Even  when  he  did  fully  realize  the  position 
of  affairs  Mr.  Bostock  betrayed  no  symptom  of 
remorse.  His  behavior,  indeed,  for  the  next 
hour  or  so  diverged  every  minute  farther  and 
farther  from  the  precedent  set  by  twenty-four 
years  of  strict  regularity.  He  took  a  cab  to  the 
railway  station,  and  during  the  short  ride  his 

190 


GREEN    GINGER 


demeanor  so  changed  that  the  startled  cabman 
scarcely  recognized  his  fare  as  he  emerged.  Mr. 
Bostock's  hat  had  settled  over  at  a  jaunty  angle, 
and  Mr.  Bostock's  face  had  acquired  a  joyous, 
almost  a  waggish,  expression.  A  shade  of 
apprehension  crossed  it  as  he  approached  the 
booking-office  window  and  glanced  nervously 
about  him.  Then  he  plunged  his  head  deep 
in  at  the  little  hole,  and  demanded  his  ticket  in 
a  voice  inaudible  from  without.  He  took  his 
seat  in  the  ten-thirteen  train,  just  as  he  said 
he  would;  but — and  here  you  may  begin  the 
measure  of  Mr.  Bostock's  backsliding — he  got 
out  at  Beachpool-on-Sea ! 

Not  without  some  nervousness  and  trepida- 
tion, it  is  true;  for  the  habit  of  twenty-four 
years  is  hard  to  shake  off.  But  once  out  in  the 
High  Street  of  Beachpool,  Mr.  Bostock's 
gradual  expansion  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see. 
He  put  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets,  he  put 
his  hat  positively  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  street,  by  the  sea,  he  bought  a 
cane  and  swung  it! 

Mr,  Bostock  was  taking  a  little  holiday  "on 
his  own,"  as  the  vulgar  say.  How  long  he  was 
going  to  stay,  w'hat  arrangements  he  should 
make,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  he  had  as  yet  thought 
nothing  of.  Here  he  was,  free  and  irresponsible, 
at  Beachpool,  where  nobody  knew  him,  and 
ready  for  a  holiday  after  twenty-four  years' 


GREEN    GINGER 


respectability.  He  went  back  to  the  shop  where 
he  bought  the  cane,  and  there  bought  a  pipe  and 
an  ounce  of  tobacco.  Mrs.  Bostock  had  never 
allowed  him  to  smoke  anything  less  respectable 
than  a  cigar  since  they  were  married.  Sometimes 
she  had  even  bought  the  cigars  herself.  Perhaps 
I  should  not  have  mentioned  this  last  circum- 
stance, since  it  is  far  from  my  design  to  arouse 
sympathy  for  the  perverted  Bostock. 

As  for  him,  he  grew  wilder  at  every  step 
along  the  beach.  For  he  walked  along  the  sands 
here  like  any  low  tripper,  and  once  he  actually 
"skated"  an  oyster-shell  along  the  water — not 
very  well.  Then  he  stopped  to  listen  to  a  group 
of  niggers,  and  even  laughed — laughed  aloud — 
at  a  song  about  a  "missis"  and  a  mother-in-law, 
and  put  twopence  in  the  tambourine  rathen  than 
go  away  before  it  was  finished.  And  as  he  went 
on  among  the  children  digging  sand  and  their 
elders  devouring  fruit  and  buns,  he  burst  into 
little  gasps  of  laughter  at  nothing  whatever,  and 
was  barely  able  to  repress  an  insane  desire  to 
dance  in  public.  The  desire  grew  so  urgent, 
indeed,  that  he  walked  straight  on  along  the 
beach,  past  the  last  of  the  family  groups,  and 
into  the  solitude  beyond.  Here  the  cliffs  began, 
and  the  shore  was  strewn  with  large  stones, 
which  presently  gave  place  to  boulders. 

Mr.  Bostock  was  two  miles  from  Beachpool, 
and  absolutely  alone  with  the  cliffs,  the  boulders, 

192 


GREEN    GINGER 


and  the  sea.  He  took,  a  cautious  glance  about 
him,  laughed  aloud  twice,  and  burst  into  the 
most  astonishing  fandango  ever  executed  by  an 
elderly  gentleman  having  no  connection  with 
the  stage.  Then  he  plucked  the  hat  from  his 
head,  flung  it  at  his  feet,  and  kicked  it  over  the 
nearest  boulder.  Mr.  Bostock  had  utterly 
thrown  off  the  mask! 

He  picked  his  hat  up,  however,  with  some 
solicitude,  and  sat  on  the  boulder  to  restore  its 
shape.  Then  he  held  it  at  arm's  length  and 
laughed  at  it,  loud  and  long.  No  hat  of  Mr. 
Bostock's  had  endured  such  derision  before. 

He  clapped  it  on  the  side  of  his  head,  stuck 
his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
gazed  out  over  the  sea,  chuckling.  The  great 
green  water  was  beautiful  and  smooth  and  soft, 
and  the  day  was  warm.  Mr.  Bostock  had  not 
had  a  swim  for  years;  Mrs.  Bostock  did  not 
consider  the  exercise  suitable  to  his  dignity  and 
his  years,  nor,  indeed,  the  costume  to  his  figure. 

He  had  no  bathing  costume  now,  but  did 
that  really  matter?  There  was  not  a  soul  in 
sight,  nor  likely  to  be  one.  The  nearest  person 
at  Beachpool  was  two  miles  off,  and  Scarbourne 
was  quite  seven  miles  away.  There  was  the 
towel  difficulty,  of  course;  but  Mr.  Bostock 
had  a  mind  above  difficulties  just  now,  and  a 
towel  was  a  trifle  beneath  his  soaring  notice.  As 
4  boy  he  had  run  about  to  get  dry,  and  now 

193 


GREEN    GINGER 


he  chanced  to  have  two  big,  clean  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs. Mr.  Bostock  was  tuned  up  for  a 
wild  adventure,  and  this  was  the  wildest  he  could 
think  of.  He  took  one  more  look  along  the 
deserted  shore  and  up  at  the  silent  cliffs,  and 
began  to  pull  off  his  clothes. 

There  never  was  such  a  delightful  swim  as 
Mr.  Bostock  Indulged  In  from  that  deserted 
shore.  There  were  cool,  transparent  pools 
among  the  rocks  that  dotted  the  shore,  and 
farther  out  there  was  just  enough  motion  in  the 
water  to  save  monotony.  The  air  was  warm 
and  the  water  of  a  pleasant  coolness,  for  as  yet 
the  sun  had  not  brought  it  to  Its  full  summer-day 
temperature.  And  all  the  while  not  a  soul  came 
in  sight  along  the  shore.  From  time  to  time 
Mr.  Bostock  glanced  back  to  the  solitary  dark 
speck  among  the  boulders  which  he  knew  to 
be  his  heap  of  clothes,  and  he  saw  it  always 
quite  safe. 

So  time  went,  while  Mr.  Bostock,  from  time 
to  time  floating  on  his  back  and  gazing  thought- 
fully into  the  blue  of  the  sky  above,  revolved 
in  his  mind  scandalous  fraudulent  plans  for  the 
future,  whereby  forged  telegrams  from  the 
office  should  procure  him  more  holidays  like 
this.  Thus  does  fancied  impunity  embolden  the 
evil-doer. 

Still,  delightful  as  that  swim  was,  Mr.  Bos- 
tock realized  that  he  must  come  out  of  the  water, 


194 


GREEN    GINGER 


sooner  or  later,  and  at  length  he  turned  and 
headed  for  the  shore,  marking  his  course  by 
the  little  dark  spot  where  he  had  left  his 
clothes.  He  came  in  slowly  and  easily,  dreading 
no  evil.  The  tide  had  risen  a  little,  and  he 
congratulated  himself  on  getting  in  in  time  to 
save  his  clothes  a  possible  wetting,  a  danger  he 
had  not  considered,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
adventure.  He  rose  from  the  water's  edge, 
grasped  the  boulder,  took  two  tender  steps  on 
the  shingle — and  instantly  rushed  back  into  the 
sea  and  swam  off  as  hard  as  he  could  go. 

In  the  whole  course  of  his  hitherto  exemplary 
life  Mr.  Bostock  had  never  had  such  a  shock — 
such  a  horrible,  stunning  surprise.  The  clothes 
were  not  his ! 

But  this  alone  was  a  comparative  trifle. 
For  what  had  sent  Mr.  Bostock  staggering 
back  as  from  the  charge  of  a  bull,  what  had 
propelled  him  headlong  into  the  sea  and  set 
him  swimming  as  though  the  bull  had  turned 
into  a  shark,  was  the  appalling  fact  that  he  had 
found  himself  confronted  with  a  heap  of  female 
garments ! 

There  seemed  to  be  no  possible  mistake.  It 
was  a  black,  rusty-looking  heap,  with  a  rather 
disorganized  bonnet  and  a  pair  of  cloth-topped 
boots  of  the  sort  called  "jemimas,"  down 
at  heel,  bulgy  at  the  toes,  and  very  loose 
and  frilly  about  the  elastic  sides.     It  seemed,  In 

1195 


GREEN    GINGER 


short,  the  outfit  of  the  sort  of  elderly  female 
for  whom  the  only  word  is  "geezer." 

A  little  way  out  from  the  shore  Mr.  Bostock 
ventured  to  turn  about  and  tread  water.  Surely 
that  was  the  boulder  on  which  he  had  left  his 
clothes?  They  had  been  quite  visible  from  the 
sea,  as  he  distinctly  remembered,  and  now  the 
only  heap  of  clothes  in  sight  was  the  heap  he 
had  just  fled  from,  lying  precisely  in  the  same 
spot.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight,  nor  any 
human  belonging  except  that  heap  of  clothes  on 
the  boulder.  Nobody  was  visible  on  the  water, 
nobody  on  the  shore.  Mr.  Bostock  swam  in  a 
little  way,  till  he  could  stand  on  the  sandy 
bottom,  with  his  head  and  shoulders  above 
water,  and  then,  remembering  the  expedient  of 
Mr.  Pickwick  in  the  wrong  bedroom  at  Ipswich, 
called  out  very  loudly,  "Ha — hum!" 

Mr.  Bostock  waited  for  an  answer,  but  heard 
nothing  but  the  sea,  and  saw  nothing  but  that 
and  the  shore  and  the  dark  heap  of  clothes  be- 
fore him. 

There  was  certainly  not  another  pile  of  clothes 
anywhere  in  sight,  and  Mr.  Bostock,  his  first 
fright  over,  began  to  grow  very  anxious.  He 
walked  a  step  or  two  farther  In  and  called  again, 
this  time  very  loudly  indeed,  "Ha — hum!" 
And  then,  when  no  sound  answered  him,  he 
proceeded — "Anybody  there?" 

Nobody  was  there,  it  would  seem,  so  presently 

.196 


GREEN    GINGER 


Mr.  Bostock,  staring  wildly  and  anxiously  in  all 
directions,  crept  out  of  the  water  again.  Was 
it  possible  that  his  eyes  had  deceived  him? 

No;  the  clothes  were  exactly  what  he  had 
taken  them  to  be,  and  no  others  were  in.  sight. 
He  snatched  hastily  at  a  grubby  old  plaid  shawl 
that  crowned  the  heap,  and,  wrapping  it  about 
him,  began  to  explore  the  beach. 

It  was  all  useless.  Nobody  was  near  him, 
and  not  a  scrap  of  his  own  clothing  was  to  be 
seen.  Mr.  Bostock's  mind  did  not  work  with 
great  rapidity,  but  now  that  he  had  got  dry 
by  his  boyhood's  method  of  running  about  the 
beach,  with  some  assistance  from  the  grubby 
plaid  shawl,  he  realized  that  he  was  faced  by  the 
dreadful  prospect  of  returning  to  civilization  dis- 
guised as  a  "geezer." 

He  lifted  the  shabby  garments  gingerly,  and 
shuddered.  They  had  that  peculiar  gritty  grimi- 
ness  that  makes  any  sensitive  person  shudder, 
and  they  smelt  damp,  like  a  rag-shop.  Mr. 
Bostock  shrank  and  groaned,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  With  an  infinitude  of  shivers  and 
squirms  he  began  to  put  them  on. 

He  felt  about  the  skirt  for  pockets,  and  grew 
conscious  of  a  new  terror.  There  was  a  pocket 
— a  torn,  clammy  bag  dangling  by  one  corner — 
and  it  was  empty!  In  the  pockets  of  Mr. 
Bostock's  vanished  suit  were  nearly  ten  pounds 
in  gold  and  silver,  a  pocket-book  with  several 

I97J 


GREEN    GINGER 


notes  in  it,  a  gold  watch  and  chain,  and  some 
other  valuables,  to  say  nothing  of  his  railway- 
ticket.  He  broke  into  a  cold  sweat.  Not  only 
must  he  go  among  his  fellow-creatures  as  a 
"geezer,"  but  as  a  "geezer"  absolutely  penni- 
less! 

The  prospect  was  more  terrible  than  anything 
Mr.  Bostock  had  imagined  in  his  life.  He  broke 
into  a  fit  of  savage  indignation  at  the  callous 
depravity  of  the  wretched  female  who  had  stolen 
his  clothes,  and  must  now  be  masquerading  in 
them  as  a  man — in  itself  a  scandalous  offence 
against  the  law.  And  at  that  reflection  Mr. 
Bostock's  distress  became,  if  possible,  still  more 
acute.  For  it  struck  him  that  he  too,  arrayed 
in  the  horrible  clothes  he  was  struggling  with, 
would  be  committing  the  same  scandalous  of- 
fence, and  liable  to  the  same  penalty! 

At  length  the  dismal  toilet  was  complete,  and 
Mr.  Bostock,  miserable  enough,  but  ignorant 
even  now  of  the  amazing  figure  he  was  making 
by  reason  of  his  unskilful  management  of  the 
unaccustomed  garments,  addressed  himself  to 
the  next  step.  Beachpool  was  two  miles  in  one 
direction,  Scarbourne  more  than  seven  the  other 
way.  Pulling  nervously  at  the  strings  of  the 
battered  bonnet,  which  all  too  scantily  covered 
his  lack  of  tresses,  he  turned  first  one  way  and 
then  the  other.    Which  way  should  he  go? 

The  rising  tide  answered  the  question  for  him. 

198 


GREEN    GINGER 


Long  before  he  could  traverse  the  seven  rocky 
miles  under  the  cliffs  he  would  be  caught  by 
the  tide;  so  perforce  he  turned  back  to  Beach- 
pool.  He  did  it  with  some  vague  sense  of 
relief,  too,  for  he  had  not  yet  invented  a  means 
of  dodging  Mrs.  Bostock.  He  did  not  even 
know  where  she  might  be  encountered.  The 
capture  of  Mrs,  Berkeley  Wiggs  had  been  the 
object  of  some  ambition,  and  now  that  it  was 
effected,  Mrs.  Bostock  would  probably  keep  her 
as  long  as  possible — for  a  drive  inland — to  lunch 
— anything  convenient.  But  even  supposing 
Mrs.  Bostock  safely  out  of  the  way,  how  could 
her  wretched  husband  possibly  enter  the  select 
boarding  establishment  undetected  in  the  guise 
of  a  "geezer"  ? 

The  way  to  Beachpool  was  filled  with  per- 
plexity, and  Mr.  Bostock  grew  desperate  as  he 
went.  What  could  he  do?  Whose  help  could 
he  ask?  Who  would  lend  money  to  an  appar- 
ently and  obviously  disreputable  old  woman,  who 
told  a  cock-and-bull  tale  of  being  a  gentleman 
of  substance,  much  respected  in  the  City,  in  need 
of  a  little  temporary  assistance?  The  very  best 
he  could  hope  for  from  such  a  course  was  that 
inquiries  would  be  made,  which  was  the  last 
thing  he  wanted;  for,  in  his  mind's  eye,  he  saw 
the  terrible  figure  of  Mrs.  Bostock,  stern,  sus- 
picious, and  incredulous,  standing  at  the  other 
end  of  those  inquiries.     But  it  would  be  far 


199 


GREEN    GINGER 


more  likely  that  he  would  be  given  in  charge 
of   the   police   straightway. 

Mr.  Bostock  was  convinced  that  to  beg  would 
not  only  be  difficult,  but  useless;  and  in  his 
dire  extremity  he  began  to  consider  the  possi- 
bility of  stealing — of  stealing  clothes,  money, 
anything  that  would  get  him  out  of  this  horrible 
mess.  So  low  had  the  principles  of  the  hitherto 
blameless  Mr.  Bostock  been  brought  in  the 
course  of  a  mere  hour  or  two  from  his  tiny, 
almost  involuntary,  departure  from  the  path  of 
rectitude.     (Refer  to  moral,  ut  supra.) 

As  a  man  of  business  it  had,  of  course, 
occurred  to  him  to  wire  to  his  office  for  a  tele- 
graphic money-order,  to  be  sent  to  the  nearest 
post-office.  But,  as  a  man  of  business  also,  he 
remembered  that  any  person  applying  for  the 
money  must  produce  complete  proof  of  his 
identity.  Proof  of  his  identity  in  this  amazing 
rig!  But,  to  begin  with,  the  telegram  to  the 
office  must  cost  at  least  sixpence.  And  where 
was  the  sixpence? 

And  so  Mr.  Bostock  crept  into  Beachpool  in 
a  very  different  state  of  mind  from  that  in  which 
he  had  left  it;  meditating  theft.  He  was  ready 
to  steal  the  pennies  from  a  blind  man's  hat. 
Indeed,  he  would  have  preferred  that  proverbial 
form  of  larceny  before  any  other,  from  its 
comparative  safety  and  simplicity;  but  blind  men 
have  far  too  little  in  their  hats. 

200 


GREEN    GINGER 


He  slunk  about  the  back  streets,  sweating  with 
terror  at  the  notice  he  was  attracting.  It  was 
only  because  of  his  clean-shaven  face  that  he 
had  dared  to  come  into  the  town  at  all,  and 
now  he  began  to  wish  himself  back  on  the  empty 
beach.  But  something  must  be  done,  and  des- 
peration forced  him  far  beyond  his  natural 
courage,  which  was  not  very  great.  He  found 
himself  in  a  street  leading  directly  into  the  High 
Street,  and  straight  before  him  in  the  High- 
Street  was  a  cheap  tailor's,  where  dummy  figures, 
labelled  "This  style,  thirty  shillings,"  stood  by 
the  door. 

No  peri  ever  gazed  at  the  portals  of  Paradise 
with  half  the  ardent  longing  with  which  Mr. 
Bostock  stared  at  the  door  of  that  cheap  tailor's 
shop.  Very  gladly  would  he  have  given  a  cheque 
for  fifty  pounds  for  one  of  those  shoddy  suits 
and  a  ticket  to  London.  He  had  no  cheque- 
book, and  if  he  had,  what  would  any  sane  tailor 
think  of  such  a  proposition  from  a  disreputable- 
looking  old  woman? 

But  the  shop,  with  its  possible  salvation,  at- 
tracted him.  Perhaps  he  might  make  an  ar- 
rangement with  the  tailor.  He  drew  nearer, 
eyeing  the  dummies  at  the  door  with  an  affection- 
ate interest  which  might  well  have  aroused  the 
notice  of  any  observer,  and,  in  fact,  did  attract 
the  atteniton  of  the  shopkeeper,  lurking  like  a 
spider  in  the  recesses  of  his  shop.    Even  in  his 

201 


GREEN    GINGER 


present  excitement,  Mr.  Bostock  was  sane 
enough  to  see  the  impossibility  of  either  stealing 
a  suit  off  a  dummy,  or  eloping  with  the  dummy 
complete,  clothes  and  all,  under  his  arm.  But 
as  he  neared  the  doorway  he  could  not  resist  the 
Impulse  to  extend  his  hand  to  the  coveted  gar- 
ments; and  at  that  moment  the  shopkeeper 
appeared. 

He  was  a  shiny,  stout,  frock-coated  Jew,  and 
he  said,  very  peremptorily:  "Here,  vat  you 
vant?     Out  o'  dis  here!" 

Mr.  Bostock  thrust  all  his  resolution  Into  his 
voice;  It  was  a  rather  large,  round,  rolling  voice, 
very  impressive  from  a  confident  middle-aged 
gentleman  In  the  right  clothes,  but  startlingly 
out  of  character  with  his  present  outfit. 

"I — ah — wish  to  see  you  privately  on  a  mat- 
ter of  business,"  said  Mr.  Bostock. 

"Ah,  I  dessey,"  replied  the  shopkeeper;  "ve 
got  nodden  to  give  avay  here.  Hook  it,  misses; 
sharp !" 

"But  I  assure  you — If  you  will  only  listen — " 

"Got  no  dime  to  stand  talkin'  mit  you.  If 
you  von't  go — then  phtf     B'leesman!" 

Mr.  Bostock  had  not  noticed  that  two  police- 
men were  inspecting  him  with  some  curiosity 
from  the  nearest  corner.  Now  he  saw  them 
with  a  sudden  twinge  of  alarm,  and  straightway 
began  a  hurried  retreat  across  the  road. 

"Hi!      You    there!      Here — come    here!" 

202 


GREEN    GINGER 


cried  one  of  the  policemen,  starting  smartly 
after  him. 

At  that  Mr.  Bostock  lost  all  hold  of  his  wits, 
and,  snatching  up  his  skirts  in  both  hands,  ran 
madly  up  the  street  he  had  come  by,  followed 
by  both  the  policemen  and  the  beginnings  of  a 
joyful   crowd. 

With  no  more  thought  of  disguise,  no  more 
plans  or  schemes,  nothing  but  a  frantic  desire 
to  get  away,  anywhere,  anyhow,  Mr.  Bostock 
scampered  up  one  narrow  street  and  down  an- 
other, with  a  gathering  hunt  behind  him.  The 
bonnet  dangled  over  his  shoulders  by  the  strings 
round  his  neck,  and  the  bulgy  "jemimas" 
threatened  to  fly  off  his  feet  as  he  ran.  Blind 
instinct  taught  him  to  turn  each  corner  as  he 
came  to  it,  and  so  keep  out  of  view  of  his 
pursuers  as  much  as  possible;  and  fortunately 
his  way  led  him  through  the  old  town,  where 
the  fishermen's  alleys  favored  his  flight.  But 
Mr.  Bostock  was  a  poor  runner,  and  it  was  the 
mere  spur  of  terror  that  kept  him  ahead.  He 
caught  at  a  post  and  swung  into  a  street  leading 
down  to  the  sea,  and  as  he  did  it  he  met  a  gust 
of  wind  that  took  the  bonnet  clean  away  up  the 
street  behind  him.  There  was  an  alley  to  the 
right,  and  into  that  he  plunged,  bonnetless  and 
somewhat  bald;  and  farther  still,  growing 
slower  and  more  "blown"  as  he  went,  till  he 
emerged  at  the  back  of  a  row  of  unfinished 

203 


GREEN    GINGER 


houses  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  And  here 
he  trod  on  a  brickbat,  which  twisted  the  "jem- 
ima" sideways  on  his  foot  and  flung  him  head- 
long. 

He  could  run  no  more.  His  little  remaining 
breath  was  clean  knocked  out  of  him,  and  he 
lay  where  he  fell,  beaten  and  done  for.  But 
presently,  as  the  first  shock  of  the  fall  wore  off, 
he  became  aware  that  the  noise  of  pursuit  had 
ceased,  and  that,  as  a  fact,  he  was  alone  behind 
the  unfinished  houses,  and  comparatively  safe. 
The  lost  bonnet  had  saved  him,  for  the  hunters 
naturally  kept  on  up  the  street  along  which  they 
found  the  thing  bowling,  and  so  off  on  the 
wrong  track. 

Mr.  Bostock  climbed  painfully  to  his  feet, 
and  crawled,  panting,  behind  a  broken  fence. 
Why  he  had  been  chased  with  such  persistence 
he  could  not  divine,  but,  at  any  rate,  it  was  clear 
that  he  must  get  out  of  Beachpool  with  no  more 
delay.  He  put  the  plaid  shawl  over  his  head, 
and  made  shift  to  pull  the  rest  of  his  dress  into 
some  sort  of  order.  Then  he  started  out,  with 
much  timid  reconnoitring  to  tramp  to  Scar- 
bourne  by  road. 

There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  He  must 
approach  the  back  way  to  the  select  boarding 
establishment,  and  take  one  of  the  servants, 
who  might  recognize  him,  into  his  confidence. 
He  would  promise  anything — a  sovereign^  five 

204 


GREEN    GINGER 


pounds,  whatever  the  girl  asked — to  be 
smuggled  in  during  the  absence  of  his  family. 
It  was  a  difficult  expedient,  but  the  only  one. 
And  with  this  last  resort  in  view  Mr.  Bostock 
began  his  nine  mlies'  tramp. 

He  went  with  the  greatest  caution  till  he  was 
well  clear  of  Beachpool,  and  even  then  only 
ventured  to  walk  his  best — which  was  not  very 
good,  for  he  was  mightily  tired  already — when 
nobody  was  in  sight.  Twice  he  stopped  to 
extract  small  pebbles  from  the  "jemimas,"  which 
had  cracks  convenient  for  their  admission;  and 
then,  as  he  approached  the  confines  of  a  village, 
he  stopped  for  a  more  peremptory  reason  still. 
For  there  was  a  bounce  from  the  hedge  behind 
him,  a  pair  of  stalwart  arms  clasped  him  round, 
and  a  loud  voice  shouted  by  his  ear:  "Here 
he    be,     sergeant!     I     got    him!     Sergeant!" 

Struggles  were  unavailing,  for  the  arms 
clipped  him  firmly  just  above  the  elbow,  and  the 
affrighted  Mr.  Bostock  perceived  that  they  were 
encased  in  blue  sleeves,  with  an  armlet;  at  the 
same  moment  a  hatless  policeman  came  running 
from  a  cottage  by  the  wayside  and  seized  him  In 
front. 

"Get  the  handcuffs,  sergeant!  He  be  a 
desprit  char'cter!"  bawled  the  voice  in  the 
captive's  ear. 

"All  right — we  won't  stand  to  none  of  his 
despritness  here,"  replied  the  sergeant,  dexter- 

205 


GREEN    GINGER 


ously  seizing  Mr.  Bostock  by  the  wrist  and 
collar.     "Come  along,  you  !" 

"I — I — I've  had  my  clothes  stolen!"  gasped 
Mr.  Bostock. 

"Had  yer — ha!  ha!  That's  a  good  'un," 
cried  the  sergeant.     "Had  his  clothes  stole !" 

"Ha!  ha!"  echoed  the  other  captor,  catching 
Mr.  Bostock's  other  arm;  "that  be  a  moighty 
good  'un,  sergeant!" 

"But  I  have,  I  tell  you !"  desperately  wailed 
the  victim. 

"All  right,  me  fine  feller,"  grimly  responded 
the  sergeant;  "you  needn't  make  a  song  about 
them  clothes.  We've  got  'em  'ere  for  ye  all 
right.     Come  along!" 

A  flash  of  perplexed  hope  confused  Mr. 
Bostock's  faculties,  and  then,  as  he  was  led 
toward  the  cottage,  a  slatternly  old  woman 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"Yes!"  cried  the  old  woman  shrilly,  "that's 
the  blaggard  right  enough.  That's  my  shawl 
over  his  'ed!  An'  my  other  frock!  An'  my 
boots !  An' — an'  what  ha'  ye  done  with  my 
bonnet,  you  low  thief?  Sergeant,  he's  been  an' 
sold  my  best  bonnet!" 

"What?"  cried  Mr.  Bostock.  "Are  these 
things  yours?" 

"Course  they  are,  impidence!  Comin'  into 
people's  'ouses  a-night  an'  stealin'  wittles, 
an' " 

206 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Then  I  give  that  woman  in  charge!"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Bostock.  "She's  stolen  my  clothes, 
and  ten  pounds,  and  a  pocket-book,  and  my 
watch  and  chain !" 

At  this  the  old  woman  spluttered  with  rage, 
and  the  two  policemen  guffawed  aloud.  "You're 
a  gay  'un,  you  are!  There  ain't  no  watch- 
pocket  in  them  clothes!  You  shall  have  'em, 
my  boy — we're  a-goin'  to  put  'em  on  ye  afore 
we  take  ye  back.     Here  y'are  1" 

With  these  words  Mr.  Bostock  was  forced 
in  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  and  so  to  a  room 
at  the  back. 

"Here's  yer  clothes,  my  hearty,"  proceeded 
the  sergeant;  "and  precious  glad  you'll  be  to 
get  Into  'em  again,  I  don't  think.    Come  along!" 

With  that  he  shut  the  door  behind  them,  and 
presented  to  Mr.  Bostock's  astounded  eyes — a 
suit  of  drabbish  yellow,  decorated  with  black 
"broad  arrows"  !  Nothing  but  the  unifomi  of 
the  convict  prison ! 

Mr.  Bostock  stared  wildly.  Was  this  some 
frenzied  nightmare,  or  was  he  really  stark  mad? 

He  gabbled  incoherently.  "No,  no — stole 
my  clothes — bathing — not  them — name  of  Bos- 
tock— refer  to  my  bankers — no — it's  all  a  mis- 
take!" And  then  he  stopped,  with  open  mouth, 
as  the  state  of  the  case  dawned  on  him  slowly. 

Some  wretched  convict  had  escaped  and  left 
these  things.     He  had  entered  the  cottage  in 

207 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  night  for  food,  had  gone  off  disguised  in 
the  only  clothes  he  could  find,  and  had  wandered, 
hiding  in  lonely  places,  till  he  had  reached  the 
sea-shore.  And  then  he  had  made  another 
change,  at  Mr,  Bostock's  expense ! 

And,  indeed,  that  was  exactly  what  had 
happened.  And  the  curiosity  of  the  police  at 
Beachpool,  the  chase,  and  now  the  final  capture 
— all  were  due  to  that  invaluable  invention,  the 
telephone. 

"Come  along — into  'em  !"  urged  the  sergeant, 
with  the  horrible  clothes  in  his  hand.  "You  was 
precious  anxious  about  'em  just  now.  Or  shall 
we  shove  'em  on  for  ye?" 

"No,  no,  I  tell  you — it's  a  mistake.  Take 
me  to  Scarbourne — no,  wire  to  Cornhill!  I'll 
give  you  five  pounds — ten — fifty!"  Poor  Mr. 
Bostock  struggled  to  his  feet  and  feebly  made 
for  the  door. 

The  succeeding  quarter  of  an  hour  is  too 
painful  for  description.  But  at  its  expiration 
Mr.  Bostock  was  led  forth  in  convict  garb — 
it  was  very  tight,  but  in  the  flush  of  their 
triumph  the  village  police  force  of  two  suspected 
nothing  from  that — and  pushed  into  a  light  cart 
with  a  fast  horse,  in  presence  of  the  whole 
population  of  the  village.  All  that  his  struggle 
had  gained  for  him  was  the  distinction  and 
interest,  in  the  popular  eye,  of  being  very  firmly 
handcuffed. 

208 


GREEN    GINGER 


The  horse  was  whipped  up  and  the  village 
was  left  behind,  which  at  any  rate  was  some 
relief.  Twenty  minutes'  smart  drive  brought 
the  party  within  distant  sight  of  Scarbourne,  and 
within  very  near  sight  of  an  open  carriage, 
which  they  rapidly  overtook.  Mr.  Bostock's 
disorganized  faculties  were  barely  beginning  to 
rearrange  themselves,  but  he  did  recognize  that 
carriage,  and  the  people  In  it.  With  a  gasp  he 
slid  off  the  seat,  to  hide  himself  in  the  bottom 
of  the  cart. 

"Hold  up !"  exhorted  the  constable,  hauling 
at  his  arm.  "Sergeant!  he's  tryin'  to  hide  from 
them  ladies  in  the  carriage!  P'r'aps  he's  had 
somethink  o'  theirs!" 

The  sergeant  gazed  down  on  the  cowering 
form,  and  then  gave  the  horse  an  extra  flick. 
"P'r'aps  he  has,"  he  said.     "We'll  ask  'em." 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Mr.  Bostock, 
grimy,  bruised,  handcuffed,  and  bedizened  with 
broad-arrows,  was  hauled  up  from  the  bottom 
of  the  cart  and  presented  for  Identification  to 
the  horrified  gaze  of  Mrs.  Bostock,  Miss  Bos- 
tock, Miss  Julia  Bostock,  Mrs.  Berkeley  Wiggs, 
and  the  coachman  on  the  box. 

After  that  nothing  mattered.  The  handsome 
apologies  of  the  prison  governor  were  a  mockery, 
for  Mr.  Bostock  would  have  preferred  to  stay 
with  him. 


'209; 


THE   HOUSE  OF  HADDOCK 

ROBOSHOBERY  DOVE  hauled  at  the 
twist-knotted  cord  by  his  side  till  his  enor- 
mous silver  watch  emerged  from  its  fob. 
According  to  immemorial  ritual  he  banged  the 
long-suffering  timepice  three  times  edgewise  on 
the  socket  of  his  wooden  leg,  clapped  it  to  his 
ear,  and  finally  looked  at  the  face,  comparing  it 
with  that  of  the  old  sun-dial  over  the  church 
door  behind  us. 

"  'Taren't  to  be  judged  the  sun's  nigh  two 
hours  out,  so  'tis  like  it  may  be  the  watch,"  he 
said.  "An'  none  so  much  out,  nayther,  con- 
siderin'.  'Tis  a  wunnerful  good  watch  for  all 
its  an  oad  'un." 

"Your  father's,  wasn't  It?"  I  asked,  Indo- 
lently. 

"My  father  gave  fi'  pun'  for  that  watch,  sir, 
at  Foulness,  before  eighteen  hundred."  For 
this  conversation  took  place  a  good  many  years 
ago,  when  I  was  a  very  young  person  and 
Roboshobery  Dove  was  not  so  many  years  short 
of  ninety,  tough  old  fellow  as  he  was.  "He  gave 
fi'  pun'  for  it  of  a  man  whose  father  had  been 
a  genelman  once." 

We  were  sitting  on  the  tombstone  before  the 

210 


GREEN    GINGER 


church  door;  the  tombstone  that  had  served  so 
many  purposes  since  it  had  ceased,  by  reason  of 
illegibility,  to  keep  its  charge  as  a  memorial. 
For  it  was  scored  and  worn  by  scythe-blades,  it 
made  a  convenient  waiting-place  opposite  the 
church  door  and  the  dial,  and,  if  you  turned  your 
back  on  the  church,  as  we  had  done,  you  looked 
out  upon  what  always  seemed  to  me  the  most 
wonderful  view  on  earth;  over  the  tumbling 
roofs  of  the  little  town  below  and  so  across  the 
five  miles'  width  of  sea  that  makes  the  outer  gate 
of  the  Thames.  It  was  said  that  the  level  stone 
had  had  other  uses  too;  it  had  been  found 
adapted  to  certain  profane  games,  in  which  but- 
tons and  halfpennies  had  their  parts;  but  that 
was  in  the  old  days,  before  people  were  all  good. 

"Ay,"  repeated  Roboshobery  Dove,  "his 
father  had  been  a  genelman  once,  an'  his  father 
before  him,  in  Foulness,  like  others  I  could  tell." 

"The  Doves,  eh?"  I  suggested. 

"That  I  won't  say,  sir,  though  true  'tis  I  was 
christened  after  Roboshobery  Dove  as  fit  for 
King  Charles  agin  Crom'ell.  '  'Tis  arl  a  possi- 
bility,' says  the  parson  to  my  father,  'that  you 
be  descendants,  an'  'tis  a  fine  handsome  name.' 
An'  so  he  christened  me.  That  were  Master 
Ellwood.  He  were  a  parson  o'  th'  oad  sort, 
were  he.  Wore  silver  buckles  to  his  breeches, 
an'  slep'  in  his  wig;  an'  his  walkin'  stick  were 
five  foot  long." 

211 


GREEN    GINGER 


I  had  heard  Roboshobery  so  describe  Parson 
Ellwood  more  than  once  before;  and  experience 
told  me  that  the  old  seaman  was  groping  his 
mind  for  a  story.     So  I  waited. 

"Speakin'  o'  oad  families  come  down,  an' 
likewise  speakin'  o'  Crom'ell,"  he  said  at  length, 
"folk'll  tell  'ee  mostly,  when  things  is  broke  in 
a  church,  as  'twere  Crom'ell's  sogers  did  it. 
Leastways  that's  what  ye  hear  in  these  parts. 
But  'taren't  so — not  alius.  You  know  the  Had- 
dock monument  in  the  church,  with  the  head  off? 
Well  I  count  they'll  lay  that  to  Crom'ell's  sogers, 
but  'tweren't.  I  knew  the  oad  soger  as  did  that, 
an'  he  were  none  o'  Crom'ell's;  far  from  a  soger 
at  all,  sarten  to  say.  I'll  tell  'ee  his  courtin'  tale. 
If  you  like." 

"A  courting  tale?  That's  new.  You  never 
told  me  one  of  your  own." 

Roboshobery  Dove  closed  one  bright  blue  eye 
for  a  full  quarter  of  a  minute.  "Bin  a  bacheldor 
all  my  life,"  he  said.  Then  he  opened  the  closed 
eye  and  shut  the  other. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.     "Go  on." 

"The  Haddock  as  that  monument  was  to," 
Dove  proceeded,  "was  him  as  built  the  alms- 
houses. It  were  a  big  family  once — admirals  an' 
knights  an'  what  not :  but  the  one  as  left  the 
alms-houses  were  nayther,  though  a  rich  man, 
'tis  doubtless.  I  dunno  how  many  years  'tis 
since  they  were  rich,  but  I  count  It's  hundreds; 

212 


GREEN    GINGER 


an'   now  there's    none   on   'em,   rich  or  poor." 
So   much   I   had  myself  read   in   the   county 
history,  where  the  family,  once  the  greatest  in 
these  parts,  was  noted  as  extinct. 

"There's  no  more  of  'em,"  the  old  man 
pursued,  "an'  I  knowed  the  last.  He  were  a 
long  way  from  knight  or  admiral,  or  even  rich 
man,  though  he  were  a  bit  of  a  miser  in  his  way. 
Jim  Haddock  were  his  name — oad  Jim  Had- 
dock, as  mostly  called — an'  he  got  his  livln'  one 
way  an'  another  with  a  bit  o'  field-work  here  an' 
there  an'  a  bit  o'  higglin'  in  between,  him  keepin' 
fowls.  His  father  before  him  had  been  a  hedger, 
and  his  gran'father  too,  like  as  not;  but  oad  Jim 
couldn't  forget  as  the  family  had  been  gentry 
once,  an'  he  didn't  let  nobody  else  forget  it, 
nayther.  The  taproom  weren't  good  enough  for 
he;  he'd  sit  in  the  parlor  o'  the  Ship  here,  or 
the  Castle,  up  at  Hadleigh,  an'  wait  to  be  asked 
to  drink.  If  nobody  offered  him  rum,  he'd  take 
sixpenny  ale — nothin'  lower.  An'  he'd  sniff  over 
the  pot  an'  screw  his  mouth,  like  as  'twere  an 
insult  he  were  swallerin'. 

"  '  'Tis  a  wicked  thing  to  think  on,'  he'd  say, 
*me  here  drinkin'  six-ale  as  was  born  by  rights 
to  be  drunk  on  port  wine  every  night  o'  my 
life,  like  any  other  genelman.  Ah  well !  Human 
greatness  be  a  passin'  show!'  But  he'd  go  on 
a-sniffin'  an'  drinkin'  the  sixpenny  just  as  long 
as  you'd  go  on  payin'  for  it,  an'  longer.     An' 

213 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  next  man  'ud  hear  a  deal  of  his  mighty 
grievance  agin  you,  because  'tweren't  better 
drink. 

"When  he  sold  ten  eggs  once  an'  got  three- 
pence for  'em,  same  as  any  other  man  was  glad 
to  get  in  them  days,  he  went  half  round  the 
parish  with  the  money  in  his  open  hand  before 
him,  callin'  the  world  to  witness  his  hainish 
afflictions,  whereby  he'd  a-bin  give  only  three 
dirty  coppers  for  ten  eggs,  like  any  common 
feller.  He  would  ha'  gone  all  round  'stead  of 
half,  but  the  half-way  came  down  on  Leigh 
Strand  there,  an'  a  chap  three  sheets  in  the  wind 
fetches  him  a  lift  under  the  hand  with  a  boat- 
stretcher  as  sent  the  coppers  flyin'  across  the 
quay,  an'  he  never  found  more'n  one  of  'em. 

"He  never  complained  in  that  exact  way 
afterwards,  but  he  complained  just  as  much. 
He  got  back  that  twopence  an'  a  deal  more,  one 
way  an'  another.  He  used  to  forget  to  give 
change  whenever  you'd  let  him,  an'  talk  wide 
an'  noble  about  the  word  of  a  genelman  if  you 
tried  to  putt  it  right.  His  idea  of  a  share  in 
a  harvestin'  job  was  to  draw  summat  on  ac- 
count, an'  then  sit  on  a  beer-barr'l  an'  tell  the 
master  how  the  work  ote  to  be  done,  very 
condescendin'. 

"But  the  wust  of  all  his  troubles,  the  most 
hainish  grievance  oad  Jim  Haddock  ever  had, 
were  the  alms-houses.     It  grieved  him  sick  to 

214 


GREEN    GINGER 


see  a  bit  o'  freehold  ground  an'  twelve  cottages 
as  had  belonged  to  some  great  gran'father  of  his, 
about  ten  times  removed,  bein'  lived  in  by  other 
parties,  an'  him  a-looking  on  an'  gettin'  nothen' 
out  on't.  He  thote  over  it  an'  he  grieved  over  it, 
an'  he  thote  over  it  again,  till  at  last  he  went  to 
the  rector.  'Twere  the  rector  and  churchwar- 
dens, you  understand,  as  had  the  management  of 
the  alms-houses,  by  will  of  oad  Jerry  Haddock. 
'Twere  a  huntin'  day  when  oad  Jim  went  to  the 
rectory,  an'  the  rector  were  waitin'  for  his  boss 
to  be  brote  round,  an'  gettin'  impatient. 

"  'Good-morning  sir,'  says  oad  Jim.  'I 
been  a-thinkin'  over  the  matter  o'  them  alms- 
houses.' 

"  'Oh,  you  have,  have  you?'  says  the  rector, 
cockin'  his  eye. 

"  'I  have,'  says  oad  Jim,  very  firm  an'  de- 
cided. 'I've  been  a-considerin'  the  matter  very 
deep.  It  seems  to  me  as  how  my  fam'ly  has  been 
out  o'  that  there  property  long  enough.  I  don't 
want  to  be  hard  on  nobody,  but  the  circumstances 
o'  the  fam'ly  ain't  what  they  was !  so  I'm 
compelled  to  give  notice.  I'll  thank  'ee  to  clear 
out  all  them  oad  parties,  parson,  by  quarter 
day.' 

"What  the  rector  said  ain't  quite  sarten.  I've 
heard  different  accounts,  an'  none  of  'em  ain't 
what  you  might  expect  from  a  parson,  these  here 
days.     But  that  rector  were  one  o'  th'  oad  sort, 

215 


GREEN    GINGER 


an'  anyhow  what  he  did  is  sarten.  He  took  oad 
Jim  by  the  scruff  o'  the  neck  an'  he  runned  him 
out  o'  the  rectory  garden  that  fast  that  he  den't 
stop  till  he  hit  up  agen  this  here  churchyard 
fence. 

"Oad  Jim  Haddock  took  it  bitter  unkind  o' 
the  parson,  an'  complained  most  touchin'  to 
everybody  as  'ud  listen.  'Tweren't  the  way  for 
one  genelman  to  treat  another,  he  said;  the 
proper  way,  when  two  genelmen  couldn't  agree 
on  a  matter  o'  business,  was  to  split  the  differ- 
ence; an'  he'd  a  been  very  well  satisfied  with  half 
the  alms-houses. 

"Well,  he  went  on  complainin'  very  woeful; 
but  seein'  he  couldn't  do  no  better  he  settled  with 
hisself  at  last  to  get  one  o'  the  houses  in  the 
reg'lar  way.  You  know  what  it  says — it's  up  in 
the  church — about  the  alms-houses  bein'  for  de- 
cayed parishioners,  men  an'  women,  married  an' 
single.  Well,  oad  Jim  were  pretty  sound  an' 
able  for  work,  an'  not  quite  what  you  might  look 
for  in  an  alms-house,  but  he  reckoned  his  fam'ly 
claims  'ud  get  over  that.  The  houses  were  alius 
full,  but  there  were  one  poor  oad  chap  named 
Styles  in  one,  about  eighty-five,  with  a  stroke 
down  one  side  an'  a  cough  that  joggled  him  to 
bits,  an'  oad  Jim  counted  his  house  as  good  as 
took,  in  a  month  or  two.  He  went  in,  most 
wonnerful  affectionate,  every  day,  to  see  how 
poor  oad  Styles  were  a-gettin'  on,  an'  to  slap  him 

2l6 


GREEN    GINGER 


very  hard  on  the  back  when  he  coughed,  an'  tell 
him  how  much  wuss  he  was  a-lookin'. 

"Oad  Styles  lasted  about  a  month  longer  than 
Jim  expected,  but  he  went  arter  all,  an'  then 
there  was  another  disappointment,  for  instead  o' 
oad  Jim  they  putt  a  widder  into  the  house.  Not 
so  partic'lar  oad  a  widder,  neither;  but  she'd  had 
two  husbands,  an  'tis  like  they  counted  she 
wouldn't  easy  get  a  third.  But  anyhow  oad  Jim 
Haddock  went  half-cracked.  He  said  a  mort 
of  unrespectful  things  about  oad  Jerry  Haddock 
wasting  the  fam'ly  substance  in  riotous  alms- 
houses, an'  then  he  went  to  the  rector  again. 
The  rector  den't  run  him  out  this  time;  oad  Jim 
runned  hisself  when  the  parson  grabbed  his 
walkin'-stick.  So  when  he  found  it  was  no  good 
tryin'  that  way,  he  set  out  to  see  the  widder 
herself. 

"  'Good-morning,  Mrs.  Bartrip,'  say  he, 
sniffin'  an'  snuffin'  an'  screwin'  his  nose.  'Umf ! 
umf !     Be  you  decayed?' 

*'  'What?'  says  the  widder,  lookin'  very  hard 
at  him. 

"  'I  were  only  makin'  Inquiration,'  says  he,  a 
bit  milder.  'The  rules  o'  the  will  says  decayed 
parishioners,  an'  I  felt  a  bit  anxious  about  'ee. 
If  so  be  you  ben't  decayed  I  doubt  the  parson  '11 
be  after  turnin'  'ee  out.  He  be  terr'ble  strict,  the 
parson.  An'  the  churchwardens  too.  'Tis  a 
very  serious  punishment,  by  Parliament  act,  for 

217 


GREEN    GINGER 


livin'  here  if  you  ben't  decayed.  But  there — I 
make  no  doubt  you  be  'cordin'  to  rules,  Mrs. 
Bartrip.' 

"  'I  be  'cordin'  enough  to  rules  to  stay  where 
I  am,'  says  the  widder. 

"  'Ah,  no  doubt,'  says  oad  Jim.  'The  pity  is 
'tis  knowed  all  over  the  parish.  Can't  help  it,  ye 
see,  livin'  here,  'cordin'  to  rules.  Though  'tain't 
what  a  party  'ud  like  knowed  an'  talked  about. 
Still,  no  doubt  'tis  what  parties  come  to,  gettin' 
so  far  on  in  years.' 

"  'Is't,  indeed?'  says  the  widder,  liftin'  her 
chin. 

"  'Ah,  they  do.  Not  that  there's  anythin'  to 
be  ashamed  of  in  a  few  years  more  or  less,  for 
a  sensible  woman.  When  you  get  to  sixty,  ten 
years  here  or  there  don't  make  much  difference.' 

"  'What  do  I  know  about  sixty?'  says  the 
widder. 

"  'Oh,  I'm  not  tryin'  to  bind  ye  to  sixty,  Mrs. 
Bartrip;  far  from  it.  Sixty  or  seventy  makes 
nothen',  as  I  said,  an'  some  decays  later'n  others. 
Poor  oad  Styles,  now,  he  were  late.  Some  thote 
'twere  the  house  bein'  unhealthy;  an'  sarten  to 
say  he  were  terr'ble  bad  toward  the  end.  But 
he  lasted  fair  well,  did  poor  oad  Styles.  He  were 
over  two  year  here,  an'  I  count  ye  might  last 
quite  as  long  as  that,  if  the  house  don't  get  no 
damper.  An'  that  wouldn't  seem  easy  possible, 
'tis  sarten.' 

2l8 


GREEN    GINGER 


"  'Ah !'  says  Mrs.  Bartrip,  'a  damp  house  suits 
me  wonnerful;  alius  did.' 

"Well,  all  was  for  nothen'.  Mrs.  Bartrip 
wouldn't  move  for  pride,  nor  for  wish  to  be 
thote  young,  nor  for  damp.  So  oad  Jim  waited 
a  month  an'  tried  her  with  ghosts. 

"  *Good-mornin',  Mrs.  Bartrip,'  says  he.  'I 
wondered  if  you  mightn't  be  ill,  seein'  a  light  in 
your  keepin'  room  so  late  last  night.' 

"  'Light  in  my  keepin'  room?'  says  the  wid- 
der.     'Why,  I  weren't  up  after  dark.' 

"  'Indeed,  mum?  Then  it  must  ha'  been  oad 
Styles  agen.  I've  seed  him  about  the  garden 
two  or  three  nights,  but  I  den't  think  best  to  say 
nothen',  you  bein'  a  lone  woman  an'  like  as  not 
nervous  o'  ghosts;  I  never  guessed  he'd  ha'  gone 
indoors.' 

"  'I  wouldn't  ha'  guessed  it  either,'  says  the 
widder. 

"  'But  'tis  alius  that  way  with  them  alms- 
houses,' says  oad  Jim.  'The  oad  parties  do  cling 
to  'em  wonnerful.' 

"  'Don't  blame  'em,'  says  the  widder. 

"  'It's  alius  been  the  way,  mum.  Alius  the 
way  in  that  row  o'  houses.  If  the  property  had 
still  been  in  the  family  I'd  ha'  had  it  attended  to 
long  ago,  along  with  the  plaster.  But  as  it  is, 
there's  oad  Styles  a-walking  the  house  all  silent 
every  night.' 

"  'Well,  that's  fust-rate,'  says  the  widder.    'I 

219 


GREEN    GINGER 


alius  did  like  a  ghost  in  the  house,  specially  a 
silent  one.  It's  company,  an'  it  don't  tell  no  lies.' 

"Anybody  but  oad  Jim  would  ha'  give  up  the 
job  after  that.  But  he  never  give  up  nothen'  he 
could  hoad  on  to,  an'  fore  long  he  were  round  at 
the  widder's  again.  This  time  he  didn't  try  to 
drive  her  out.  He  saw  that  weren't  to  be  done, 
so  he  split  the  difference  (like  a  gentleman)  an 
tried  to  get  in  without.  He  never  brought  up  a 
word  o'  what  had  been  said  before,  'cept  that  the 
widder  liked  company;  an'  as  company  he 
recommended  hisself  very  strong,  to  say  nothen' 
of  protection  from  ghosts.  An'  the  end  of  it 
was  they  were  married. 

"The  parson  laughed  half  an  hour  by  the 
clock  when  they  went  to  put  up  the  banns,  an' 
he  congratulated  oad  Jim  Haddock  on  enterin' 
into  the  ancestrial  property  at  last.  As  to  the 
weddin'  there  never  was  no  sich  fanteeg  in  all 
these  parts.  You  wouldn't  ha'  believed  there 
was  half  as  many  tin  pots  in  Essex.  The  parson 
he  set  'em  a  weddin'  breakfast  on  his  own  lawn, 
an'  had  all  the  rest  o'  the  alms-house  people  to 
help  eat  it.  All  that  day  they  was  squire  an' 
lady,  an'  oad  Jim  Haddock  was  such  a  swell  he 
might  ha'  fancied  hisself  his  own  great-gran'- 
father  ten  times  back. 

"But  next  mornin'  he  were  seen  choppin'  fire- 
wood very  early,  which  wasn't  like  his  reg'lar 
habits.    What  had  been  said  or  done  to  cause  it 

220 


GREEN    GINGER 


nobody  knew,  but  'twas  whispered  what  hap- 
pened when  Madam  Haddock,  showed  herself  at 
last.  ' 

"  'Husband,'  says  she,  sittin'  easy  In  th'  arm- 
chair, 'I  be  a  decayed  oad  'ooman.  Wash  down 
that  doorstep.' 

"Oad  Jim  made  fare  to  objeck,  but  she 
grabbed  the  broom  that  sudden  he  changed  his 
mind.  An'  there  began  a  little  crowd  by  the 
door  to  see  oad  Jim  a-cleanin'  a  doorstep;  an'  the 
crowd  growed  an'  growed  for  half  an  hour  be- 
fore Mrs.  Haddock  were  quite  satisfied  with  the 
job. 

"Then  says  she,  sittin'  easy  as  ever  in  the 
arm-chair:  'I  be  an  oad'  ooman  o'  seventy,  or 
mayhap  eighty,  ten  years  more  or  less  not  mat- 
terin';  so  I  need  plenty  o'  rest.  Peel  you  them 
taters  for  dinner." 

"She  lied  the  broom  across  her  knee,  handy- 
like,  an'  oad  Jim  went  an'  did  what  she  bid. 
'Twere  guessed  as  he'd  tasted  of  that  broom 
earlier  in  the  mornin',  'fore  he  chopped  the 
firewood.  So  he  peeled  the  taters  an'  putt' 
'em  in  the  pot,  an'  the  bacon  with  'em  like  as 
ordered. 

"Then  says  she:  'I  be  such  a  worn-out  oad 
'ooman,  an'  this  here  house  be  that  damp  an' 
unwholesome  I  ain't  done  no  washin'  since  fust 
the  banns  was  putt  up.  Start  up  the  copper-fire 
an'  go  to  washin'  the'  linen.' 

221 


GREEN    GINGER 


"So  she  began  with  him  an'  so  she  went  on, 
till  poor  oad  Jim  Haddock  wished  he'd  never 
been  born  a  genelman  at  all.  She  sat  all  day  in 
the  easy-chair  an'  never  let  go  the  broom,  'cept 
she  made  him  sweep  with  it.  He  scrubbed  an' 
cooked  an'  washed  an'  mended  an'  got  nothin'  by 
it  but  chin-music  an'  broomstick,  turn  about. 
An'  that  weren't  all  nayther.  He  had  to  work 
outdoor  as  well  as  in.  She  druv  him  out  with 
his  eggs  an'  fowls,  an'  she  saw  she  got  the  money 
too,  every  farden;  an'  'tween  whiles  she  found 
him  odd  jobs  round  about,  an'  drawed  his  wages 
herself.  Poor  oad  Jim  was  clean  broke  down, 
an'  hardly  mentioned  his  ancestrial  family  once 
in  a  week. 

"One  day  the  beadle's  wife  falls  ill,  an'  the 
rector  sends  round  for  Mrs.  Haddock  to  go  an' 
sweep  out  the  church.  So  she  turns  to  oad  Jim 
an'  says :  'There  be  a  job  o'  sweepin'  up  to 
church;  get  along  quick  an'  do  it  while  I  sit  in 
this  here  unhealthy  house  an'  keep  out  the  ghosts. 
An'  mind  I  don't  get  no  complaints  from  parson 
about  it  when  I  go  up  for  the  money  in  the 
evenin'.' 

"Well,  he  comes  up  to  the  church  quiet  an' 
humble,  an'  meets  the  parson  in  the  porch,  an' 
when  the  parson  sees  him,  broom  an'  all,  he 
laughs  nigh  as  much  as  he  did  before  the  wed- 
din'.  '  'Pon  my  soul,  'tis  too  bad  of  her,'  says 
the  parson,  'but  I  dunno  as  you  don't  deserve  it. 

222 


GREEN    GINGER 


'Twouldn't  be  much  of  an  admiral  they'd  make 
o'  you!' 

"Oad  Jim  went  in  an'  he  started  sweepin' 
humble  an'  quiet  enough.  But  his  heart  were 
pretty  bitter  in  him,  an'  the  parson's  words  den't 
help  it.  So  he  went  on  a-sweepin'  till  he  came 
opposite  oad  Jerry  Haddock's  monument,  an' 
there  were  oad  Jerry,  his  great-gran' father  ten 
times  over,  as  had  caused  all  the  trouble,  smilin' 
down  at  him,  blind  an'  contempshus.  That 
roused  oad  Jim  at  last. 

*'  'I  dussen't  strike  my  wife,'  he  says,  'an'  the 
parson  be  a  man  o'  scorn  an'  wrath.  But  you 
can't  hit  me  back,'  he  says.  An'  with  that  he 
swings  round  the  broom  an  ketches  oad  Jerry 
Haddock  sich  a  lift  under  the  ear  that  the  head 
flied  clean  down  the  chancel,  an'  they  found  it  in 
the  font  next  christenin'  day!" 


225 


A  LUCIFO  MATCH 

PERSONS  with  a  choice  of  several  names 
are  not  common  outside  the  peerage;  but 
some  of  them — wholly  unconnected  with 
any  peer —  are  to  be  discovered  in  London 
crowds,  though  discovery  is  not  what  they  are 
there  for.  Crowds,  in  fact,  attract  them,  from 
the  circumstances  that  whatever  the  number  of 
individuals  in  a  crowd  there  are  sure  to  be  several 
times  that  number  of  pockets,  mostly  with  some- 
thing in  them;  and  a  pickpocket  who  has  once 
been  convicted  finds  a  change  of  name  a  wise 
precaution.     So  we  arrive  at  Johnson. 

It  chanced  that  Johnson  stood  in  quite  a  small 
crowd — perhaps  of  twenty — that  stared  at  a 
shop-window  in  Oxford  Street.  He  had  only 
been  Johnson  for  a  week,  poor  fellow,  since 
emerging  from  some  months'  retirement,  and  as 
yet  the  name  did  not  sit  easily.  He  had  to  keep 
it  continually  in  mind,  lest  in  some  unforeseen 
emergency  he  might  call  himself  Jones,  or  Bar- 
ker, or  Jenkinson,  any  one  of  which  was  dan- 
gerous, and  had  been  discarded  in  its  turn  for 
that  reason;  always  after  just  such  another  holi- 
day as  that  he  had  lately  disenjoyed. 

Johnson  was  a  mild  person — not  at  all  the 

224 


GREEN    GINGER 


sort  of  man  whom  one  might  suppose  to  be  a 
pickpocket — which  was  fortunate,  of  course,  for 
Johnson,  He  was  a  meek,  rather  timid  body, 
whose  tastes  would  have  been  domestic  if  he 
had  been  a  family  man;  and  he  would  have 
been  a  family  man  if  it  were  not  for  the  expense. 
He  was  temperate,  thrifty,  and  inoffensive;  he 
shrank  with  horror  from  the  idea  of  anything 
violent,  such  as  burglary  or  work;  he  had  no 
vices,  no  particular  abilities,  and  only  one  small 
talent :  he  could  pick  a  pocket  very  well  indeed. 
Altogether,  Johnson  was  an  unusually  virtuous 
thief. 

He  stood  in  a  small  crowd  in  Oxford  Street, 
as  I  have  said,  and  while  the  small  crowd  stared 
at  the  shop  window  because  of  some  new  idea 
of  the  shopkeeper's,  Johnson  considered  pockets 
according  to  ideas  of  his  own;  having  a  natural 
human  perference  for  the  easiest  pocket  in  the 
most  sumptuous  habiliment.  He  felt  himself 
much  drawn  toward  a  man  in  an  "immensikoff" 
— a  fur-lined  overcoat — which  was  quite  the 
most  magnificent  garment  in  the  crowd.  The 
large  side-pocket  of  the  "immensikoff"  gaped 
invitingly,  and,  though  outside  overcoat-pockets 
were  barren  vessels  as  a  rule,  this  was  so  very 
easy  that  it  were  wasting  a  chance  not  to  try 
it.  So  Johnson  placed  himself  against  the  pocket 
and  tried,  with  unexpected  success. 

For  Indeed,   at  the  bottom  of  that  pocket 


GREEN    GINGER 


reposed  a  purse — not  at  all  what  one  might  ex- 
pect to  find  there.  In  an  instant  that  purse  was 
transferred  to  the  outside  pocket,  so  closely 
adjacent,  of  Johnson's  light  overcoat;  and  then 
Johnson  paused  for  a  moment,  ostentatiously 
scratching  his  cheek  with  the  guilty  hand,  and 
staring  with  rapt  eyes  at  the  window;  till  he 
judged  it  expedient  to  edge  gently  away  and 
evaporate  from  the  little  crowd. 

He  strolled  easily  to  the  next  turning,  turned 
up  it  with  quicker  steps,  and  so  into  a  quieter 
cross  street.  Here  he  paused,  plunged  his  hand 
into  his  side-pocket,  and — found  it  empty. 

His  chin  fell,  and  he  stood  amazed.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  it — this  was  the  pocket  into 
which  he  had  dropped  the  purse,  and  now  there 
was  nothing  there.  He  felt  in  the  opposite 
pocket — needlessly,  for  he  clearly  remembered 
working  with  his  right  hand,  and  with  his  right 
side-pocket  against  the  left  pocket  of  the  "im- 
mensikoff."  There  was  nothing  now  In  either  of 
his  side-pockets,  though  he  raked  them  through 
with  anxious  fingers.  And  then  everything  inside 
him  bounced  at  the  sudden  touch  of  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  He  shrank  and  turned,  and  found 
himself  confronted  by  the  man  In  the  fur-lined 
coat. 

The  man  was  grinning  at  him  with  sardonic 
politeness,  and  Johnson  did  not  like  him  at  all. 
He  was  tall  and  broad  and  dark,  while  Johnson 

226 


GREEN    GINGER 


was  small  and  narrow  and  pale.  The  stranger's 
black  moustache  was  waxed  into  long  spikes, 
which  pointed  toward  the  outer  edges  of  the  flat 
brim  of  a  very  tall  hat,  and  gave  a  touch  of 
the  unearthly  to  his  grin;  and  in  his  hand  he 
extended  toward  Johnson  a  metal  box — John- 
son's own  tobacco-box,  in  truth,  which  he  now 
remembered  to  have  left  in  that  same  side  coat- 
pocket. 

"How  de  do?"  said  the  sardonic  stranger. 
"Were  you  feeling  in  your  pocket   for  this?" 

Johnson's  panic  impulse  was  to  deny  his 
tobacco-box  utterly,  but  the  stranger's  black  eyes 
were  piercing  his  very  brain,  and  he  felt  it  use- 
less. He  took  the  box  that  was  forced  on  him, 
and  gasped  unintelligible  acknowledgments.  He 
meant  to  say  that  he  was  extremely  obliged,  and 
didn't  know  he  had  dropped  it;  but  he  never 
remembered  what  he  did  say. 

"/  believe  some  sneaking  thief  picked  your 
pocket,"  said  the  stranger,  his  grin  growing 
fiercer.    "Open  it  and  see  if  anything's  missing." 

Johnson  began  a  mumble  that  it  was  all  right 
and  of  no  consequence  and  didn't  matter,  but 
the  eyes  and  the  satanic  grin  compelled  him,  and 
he  sprang  the  lid.  Instantly  there  arose  from 
within  a  gigantic  creature  with  horns,  which  ran 
across  his  hand  on  horrid  clawed  legs  and  made 
for  his  sleeve.  Johnson  squeaked  like  a  rat,  and 
flung  box  and  insect  to  the  ground  together.    He 

227 


GREEN    GINGER 


had  a  feminine  horror  of  crawling  things,  and 
had  never  seen  a  stag-beetle  before. 

The  stranger  snatched  the  box  as  it  fell,  and, 
brushing  roughly  against  Johnson,  skilfully 
scooped  up  the  insect  from  the  pavement. 

"What?"  he  said.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  it 
wasn't  yours  at  all !  And  yet  you  wanted  to  take 
it?  Is  there  anything  else  in  those  pockets  of 
yours  that  doesn't  belong  to  you?     Show  me!" 

"No,  sir!  Nothing  at  all,  sir,  upon  my 
solemn  davy!"  wailed  Johnson  in  terror.  For 
the  eyes  and  the  grin  were  fiercer  than  ever. 
"Nothing  at  all,  sir  !"  protested  Johnson,  pulling 
out  the  pocket-linings.  And  there,  as  the  right- 
hand  pocket  came  inside  out,  emerged  the 
stranger's  purse ! 

"Liar!"  cried  the  dark  man.  "Thief!  That 
Is  my  purse!" 

He  snatched  it  away  and  opened  it,  while 
Johnson  stood  helpless  in  amazement,  with  his 
pockets  protruding  on  each  side. 

"See!"  pursued  the  stranger,  thrusting  the 
open  purse  under  his  nose.  "My  purse,  with 
my  money  in  it!     What  about  that?" 

Instinct  brought  a  jumbled  defence  to  John- 
son's lips.  "Quite  a  mistake — wouldn't  think  of 
such  a  thing,  being  a  gentleman  himself.  Acci- 
dent that  might  happen  to  anybody — a  lot  of 
trouble  in  the  family  lately" — and  so  on. 

"What's  your  name?"  snapped  the  stranger. 

228 


GREEN    GINGER 


It  disconcerted  Johnson  more  than  anything  else 
to  see  that  this  fiendish  person  was  grinning 
more  than  ever,  while  his  unavoidable  eyes 
seemed  to  divine  more  about  Johnson  than  even 
Johnson  ever  knew.  "What's  your  name?"  he 
demanded. 

"Jones !"  spluttered  the  thief,  in  a  panic. 
"Barker! — ^no,   Jenkinson — I   mean   Johnson!" 

"Oh,  I  see,"  the  stranger  replied;  and  now 
his  moustache  and  his  grin  chased  each  other 
to  the  very  tips  of  his  ears.  "I  see;  Jones,  alias 
Barker,  alias  Jenkinson,  and  at  present  Johnson. 
Last  conviction  under  the  name  Jenkinson,  eh?" 

"  'Twasn't  exactly  a  conviction,  sir,  I  assure 
you,"  protested  the  sweating  pickpocket.  "The 
judge's  mistake  entirely — quite  a  misunder- 
standing; and  the  commonest  watch  you  ever 
see;  not  worth  a  bob!" 

"And  what  did  you  get?     A  year?" 

"No,  sir — nothing  of  the  kind.  It's  a  wicked 
slander,  sir,  when  anybody  says  it  was  a  year. 
Not  a  day  more  than  nine  months,  I  give  you 
my  solemn  word!" 

"After  a  dozen  previous  convictions?" 

"No  sir — that's  another  slander;  anybody  as 
told  you  that  is  trying  to  take  my  character 
away.  There  wasn't  more  than  seven,  sir,  or 
eight  at  the  very  most.  It's  'ard  to  be  scan- 
dalized like  that,  sir!" 

"Shocking!"     The  stranger  had  slipped  his 


229 


GREEN    GINGER 


purse  away  and  now  had  his  hand  on  Johnson's 
shoulder,  with  finger  and  thumb  taking  a  good 
nip  of  his  coat-collar.  "Only  seven  or  eight 
convictions!  Poor  chap;  you  shall  have  another 
at  once.     Come  along!" 

"No,  indeed,  sir — let  me  alone!  On  my 
solemn  davy,  sir,  it  was  all  a  mistake.  I  dunno 
how  the  purse  got  there!"  And  it  surprised 
Johnson  to  find  himself  offering  an  excuse  with 
such  a  deal  of  truth  in  it. 

The  stranger's  grin  relaxed  a  little,  and  his 
voice  grew  more  business-like.  "Very  well," 
he  said.  "Come  with  me  for  an  hour  and  I 
won't  charge  you.  But  don't  you  displease  me, 
my  virtuous  friend!"  The  grin  flickered  up 
again.  "Don't  you  displease  me,  or  you'll  go 
back  to  as  long  a  dose  of  gaol  as  I  can  get 
for  you,  mind  that !  You  shall  buy  your  release 
on  my  terms.  Come  along;  but  first  stuff  those 
pockets  In  again." 

Johnson  obeyed,  and  walked  by  the  side  of 
his  persecutor  in  a  maze  of  sickening  bewilder- 
ment. Could  he  be  really  awake?  The  whole 
thing  was  uncommonly  like  a  hideous  nightmare, 
down  to  the  very  beetle.  He  had  the  most 
distinct  recollection  of  his  shock  of  surprise  at 
finding  his  coat-pockets  empty;  yet  he  had 
put  the  purse  there,  and  there  it  proved  to  be 
after  all.  The  thing  was  the  more  like  a  dream, 
because  his  efforts  to  remember  made  it  all  seem 


230 


GREEN    GINGER 


like  something  that  had  occurred  a  long  time 
ago.  And  he  would  doubtless  have  believed  it 
a  nightmare  and  made  some  desperate  effort  to 
wake  himself,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the 
gloating  stranger  most  palpably  had  him  by  the 
arm  as  they  walked  through  the  back  streets, 
and  now  and  again  put  a  question  of  such  a 
pungent  and  penetrating  nature  that  demanded 
all  Johnson's  waking  wits  to  meet  it.  Such  wits 
as  Johnson  had  were  barely  sufficient  for  the 
needs  of  his  trade,  and  now  they  were  oppressed 
by  a  feeling  that  he  was  being  "got  at"  in  some 
unfathomable  manner;  for  indeed  the  satanic 
stranger  chuckled  gaily  to  himself  as  the  torment 
went  on. 

Their  way  led  through  numerous  back  streets, 
which  Johnson  was  too  disconcerted  to  recog- 
nize, even  if  he  knew  them;  and  at  last  they 
stopped  before  a  very  blank  and  secret-looking 
door  in  a  tall  building  that  had  no  more  than 
two  other  openings  in  it,  and  those  windows, 
small  and  high. 

The  stranger  opened  the  door  with  a  latch- 
key, never  looking  at  the  key,  but  always  at 
Johnson,  with  that  embarrassing  grin  unaltered, 
unless  it  were  now  a  little  less  fierce  and  a  little 
more  whimsical.  The  door  revealed  nothing  but 
a  dark  passage,  into  which  Johnson  was  pushed 
without  ceremony.  The  place  smelt  damp,  and 
on  the  whole  strikingly  like  a  cell  in  a  police- 

231 


GREEN    GINGER 


station;  a  fact  which  gave  the  prisoner's  terrors 
a  more  definite  turn.  The  door  closed  behind 
them  and  left  them  wholly  in  the  dark;  and 
Johnson,  seized  by  the  arm,  was  thrust  stumbling 
and  staggering  along  the  passage  till  he  emerged 
on  a  spot  only  a  degree  less  obscure,  where 
nothing  was  discernible  but  some  vast  construc- 
tion of  square  beams  that  vanished  into  black- 
ness above.  Here  the  stranger  paused,  and 
groping  in  the  gloom  among  the  beams,  flung 
open  another  door. 

"Get  in  there,"  he  said,  "and  sit  down.  I 
shan't  want  you  for  an  hour.  You  can  go  to 
sleep  if  you  like." 

Johnson  obediently  stumbled  into  the  dark 
opening,  and  the  door  slammed  behind  him  with 
a  bang  and  a  sharp  click.  It  was  black — blacker 
than  ever,  but  at  least  he  was  alone  for  a  space, 
and  might  collect  his  faculties.  He  reached 
about  him,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the 
walls  of  his  prison,  for  in  fact  they  were  scarce 
a  yard  apart  in  any  direction.  It  seemed  that  he 
was  in  a  wooden  cupboard,  with  a  ledge  for 
seat.     He  sat  on  the  ledge  and  wondered. 

Imprisonment  was  not  wholly  a  novelty, 
though  this  was  certainly  the  darkest  cell  he  had 
ever  inhabited,  and  the  smallest.  There  was  to 
be  an  hour's  respite,  it  seemed,  but  he  was 
mighty  uneasy  as  to  what  would  happen  at  the 
end  of  the  hour.     He  thought  again  of  that 

232 


GREEN    GINGER 


horrible  beetle,  and  the  clothes  tingled  on  his 
skin  at  the  recollection,  till  he  began  to  rub  him- 
self all  over.  Heavens !  if  there  were  more  of 
them  in  this  place !  He  jumped  to  his  feet, 
shook  himself  and  stamped,  and  then  bethought 
him  of  his  match-box.  He  found  it  and  split  it, 
stooped  for  it  hurriedly,  butted  his  head  into  one 
side  of  the  cupboard  and  his  opposite  end  into 
another,  and  came  to  the  floor  in  a  heap. 

"Now  then,  keep  quiet  in  there!" 

The  voice  was  a  strange  one — certainly  not 
that  of  the  dark  man — and  it  came  from — 
where?  Nowhere  about  him,  but  apparently 
from  somewhere  above,  though  even  of  this  he 
was  not  certain.  Surely  there  was  no  possibility 
that  he  could  be  watched  in  this  unspeakable 
darkness.  He  groped  painfully,  found  a  match, 
groped  again  and  found  the  box  to  strike  it  on. 

The  light  was  a  great  relief,  for  it  revealed 
the  fact  that  at  least  the  place  was  free  from 
visible  insects.  He  could  see  now  that  his  cell 
was  wooden — top,  bottom,  and  sides;  and  then 
came  burned  fingers  and  sudden  darkness.  He 
lit  another  match,  and  satisfied  himself  that  there 
was  no  cranny,  nor  even  a  keyhole,  through 
which  peeping  was  possible;  then  he  lit  another 
to  pick  up  those  remaining,  and  another  after 
that. 

"Now  then!"  came  the  voice  again.  "Leave 
off  strikin'  them  matches!" 


233 


GREEN    GINGER 


Johnson  stopped,  bumped  his  head  again,  and 
scrambled  to  his  seat.  Then  he  found  courage 
to  speak.    "I  say "  he  began. 

"You  stow  that  row,  d'y'ear?    Shut  up." 

The  prisoner  said  no  more,  but  waited. 
Strange  noises  reached  his  ear  from  some  far- 
away part  of  the  building,  and  a  little  nearer 
there  were  subdued  creakings.  He  began  to 
remember  stories  of  mysterious  rooms  that 
closed  up  and  crushed  men  imprisoned  in  them; 
of  weighted  ceilings  that  fell ;  of  chambers  slowly 
filled  with  poisonous  gas.  As  he  sat  he  began 
to  tremble;  and  as  the  minutes  passed  he  felt 
himself  growing  desperate  with  fear.  He  wished 
he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  handed  to  the 
police,  for  at  least  he  knew  what  that  meant. 
But  now — he  could  not  endure  much  longer. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind,  come  what  might, 
to  shout  his  loudest  for  help;  when,  as  he  stood 
feeling  the  hundredth  time  for  the  door-fasten- 
ing, he  was  suddenly  flung  backward  and  down, 
confusedly  realizing  that  the  cupboard  was 
shooting  upward  bodily.     Was  the  thing  a  lift? 

It  stopped  with  a  jerk,  and  the  prisoner, 
recovering  his  legs,  was  aware  of  a  loud  and  now 
familiar  voice.  There  was  a  tap  on  the  door, 
and  a  click;  and  instantly  it  flew  open,  and 
Johnson  was  blinded  by  a  flood  of  light  and 
deafened  by  a  roar  of  sound. 

Hundreds  of  faces  stared  at  him  from  a  great 

234 


GREEN    GINGER 


hall,  as  many  voices  shouted  a  delighted  greeting, 
and  twice  as  many  hands  clapped  loud  applause. 
The  cupboard  stood  open  on  a  brilliantly  lighted 
stage,  and  by  it  stood  the  sardonic  stranger  in 
evening  dress,  with  a  black  wand  in  his  hand; 
while  Johnson,  gasping  and  dishevelled,  blinked 
and  cowered  helplessly. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried  the  conjurer, 
"I  have  the  honor  to  introduce  Mr.  Johnson, 
alias  Jones,  alias  Barker,  alias  Jenkinson,  the 
eminent  pickpocket.  You  will  remember  that 
when  I  enclosed  the  lady  in  the  cabinet  I 
promised  you  quite  a  new  and  original  denoue- 
ment to  the  performance — something  never  be- 
fore attempted.  I  think  I  have  fulfilled  my 
promise.  Not  only  has  the  lady  disappeared, 
but  by  an  extraordinary  application  of  occult 
natural  forces  I  have  brought  into  her  place  a 
pickpocket  snatched  this  moment  from  his  nefari- 
ous practices  in  Oxford  Street.  You  observe  his 
confusion?  What  more  natural?  But  two 
minutes  ago  his  hand  was  in  the  pocket  of  an 
eminent  and  distinguished  gentleman,  much  like 
myself  In  appearance,  seeking  that  gentleman's 
purse.  In  an  Instant — whist !  he  finds  himself 
placed  before  you  on  this  stage,  half  a  mile  off. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  It  Is  just  possible  that 
some  among  you  suspected  the  lady  who  dis- 
appeared of  being  a  confederate  of  mine;  but  I 
defy  any  one  of  you  to  call  this  man  a  con- 

235 


GREEN    GINGER 


federate.  Does  he  look  like  It?  Does  he  look 
as  though  he  came  here  on  purpose?  Has  he 
the  calm,  self-possessed,  happy,  smiling  appear- 
ance natural  to  any  man  who  has  the  good  for- 
tune to  be  In  my  employment?  Look  at  him. 
Some  gentleman  who  has  ever  had  his  pocket 
picked  may  remember  him;  if  any  of  you  are 
connected  with  the  police  you  are  sure  to  know 
him.  He  has  been  brought  up  at  half  the  police- 
courts  In  London  and  has  been  convicted  at  the 
Old  Bailey  and  the  Sessions  House  over  and  over 
again.  He  has  just  completed  nine  months' 
board  and  residence  at  this  country's  expense, 
under  the  name  of  Jenklnson;  If  he  hadn't 
changed  his  name  he'd  have  got  more.  Are  you 
quite  convinced,  ladles  and  gentlemen,  that  he  Is 
not  a  confederate?  Any  test  you  like  to  suggest 
will  be  applied.  Is  there  any  lady  present  he 
has  ever  robbed  who  would  like  to  stick  a  bonnet- 
pin  Into  him?  No?  Don't  hesitate — you  are 
quite  welcome,  I  assure  you.  Come  now,  I  wish 
you  would.  You  see,  under  the  Employer's 
Liability  Act  I  am  liable  for  any  injury  occurring 
to  people  I  employ,  but  I  don't  care  what  hap- 
pens to  this  chap.  Come  now,  let  me  persuade 
you.  Isn't  there  any  dear,  kind  lady  present, 
who  will  oblige  me  by  sticking  a  bonnet-pin  Into 
this  criminal,  just  to  oblige  me?  It  doesn't 
matter  whether  he  has  robbed  you  or  not — I 
don't  mind.    He'd  rob  you  if  he  could,  you  know.^ 

236 


GREEN    GINGER 


Here  he  is."  He  seized  the  wretched  Johnson 
by  the  collar,  and  thrust  him  forward.  "I  al- 
ways find  ladies  very  obliging,"  he  went  on. 
"Surely  you  won't  all  be  so  unkind  as  to  refuse 
just  to  stick  him  with  a  bonnet-pin  while  I  hold 
him?  Just  to  help  me  convince  the  company, 
now?" 

There  were  laughs  and  titters,  and  the  con- 
jurer whispered  from  behind:  "All  right,  you 
fool,  they  won't  do  it."  Then  he  proceeded, 
aloud:  "You  won't?  Not  one  of  you?  Then  I 
shall  have  to  try  something  else.  I'm  always 
glad  to  introduce  a  novelty  into  my  performance, 
and  I'll  think  you'll  admit  that  this  is  the  first 
time  a  real  live  pickpocket  has  ever  been  brought 
upon  the  stage  in  this  extraordinary  manner. 
Having  got  him  here  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
waste  him,  wouldn't  it?  Very  well.  I  will 
proceed  to  try  a  little  experiment  with  a  view 
to  showing  how  dishonesty  would  be  dealt  with 
in  this  country,  if  I  were  Prime  Minister.  Will 
any  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the  company  oblige 
me  by  the  loan  of  a  few  small  articles  of  value? 
A  few  rings,  a  watch,  a  gold  pencil-case — any- 
thing of  that  sort,  you  know.  I'm  sure  I  shan't 
have  to  wait  long  for  things  like  that  with 
such  a  high-class  audience  as  this.  Come  now — 
thank  you,  sir;  a  ring;  a  valuable  diamond  ring 
from  a  gentleman  in  the  second  row.  Yes? 
Thank  you,  madam — a  locket.    A  gold  watch? 

237 


GREEN    GINGER 


I  should  like  a  gold  watch — and  so  would  Mr. 
Johnson,  I  am  sure.  Here  it  comes — ^thank 
you,  sir.  A  gold  pencil-case — two  more  rings, 
a  chain,  and  a  silver  match-box;  thank  you — 
thank  you.  I  think  that  will  do;  we  mustn't 
risk  too  much  on  a  first  experiment,  you  know. 
Now  I  should  like  some  gentleman  from  the 
company  to  assist  me  by  placing  these  articles 
in  Mr.  Johnson's  pockets,  in  full  sight  of  the 
house.  Will  you,  sir?  Thank  you;  just  step 
up  here.  Now,  will  you  please  take  the  articles 
one  by  one  from  the  table,  and  place  them 
separately  in  any  of  the  criminal's  pockets  you 
choose.  Well  in  sight  of  the  company,  mind. 
Stand  a  little  aside — that's  it — so  that  everything 
shall  be  perfectly  clear.  I  need  hardly  assure 
you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  this  gentleman 
is  no  confederate  of  mine.  I  do  not  invite  you 
to  test  it  by  sticking  a  bonnet-pin  into  him — he 
is  a  good  deal  bigger  than  Johnson,  and  it  might 
not  be  safe.  I  am  sure  you  will  accept  his  word 
of  honor  from  a  gentleman  of  his  size." 

The  gentleman  approached  Johnson  and  fol- 
lowed the  conjurer's  instructions,  and  the  con- 
jurer, from  a  little  way  off,  reported  the  bestowal 
of  each  article  aloud.  "Gold  watch  in  right-hand 
waistcoat-pocket;  diamond  ring  in  left-hand 
waistcoat-pocket;  chain  in  inside  coat-pocket"; 
and  so  forth.  As  for  Johnson,  he  began  to  feel 
a  good  deal  happier.    He  resented  the  indigni- 

238 


GREEN    GINGER 


ties  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  of  course, 
but,  after  all,  he  had  expected  something  much 
worse  than  this.  All  the  bewilderment  and  anxiety 
of  the  earlier  part  of  the  adventure  were  at  an 
end  now,  and  all  was  plain  enough.  The  conjurer 
had  scored  heavily,  it  was  true,  and  the  effect  of 
Johnson's  appearance  in  the  cabinet,  aghast  and 
panic-stricken,  was  something  altogether  beyond 
the  possibilities  of  ordinary  preparation  and 
rehearsal.  But  Johnson's  relief  was  immense, 
and  now  the  novel  experience  of  having  his 
pockets  voluntarily  stuffed  with  valuables  was 
rather  pleasant  than  otherwise.  Johnson  was 
himself  again,  and  vastly  on  the  alert  for  fresh 
moves  in  the  game. 

The  gentleman  descended  from  the  platform, 
and  the  conjurer  came  forward.  "Now,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "you  have  seen  the 
articles  safely — or  shall  we  say  unsafely? — 
placed  in  the  thief's  pockets.  But  to  make  every- 
thing perfectly  plain,  and  to  identify  the  owner 
of  each,  I  will  just  rapidly  run  over  them  again. 
This  ring,  sir — you  see  It?  You  are  sure  you 
Identify  it?  It  is  your  property,  and  you  will 
remember  that  it  is  in  the  left-hand  waistcoat- 
pocket,  where  I  carefully  replace  it,  as  you  see. 
The  watch — that  is  yours,  sir;  you  may  examine 
It  again,  If  you  please.  No?  Well,  you  will 
bear  in  mind  that  It  is  In  the  thief's  right-hand 
walstcoat-pocket.    There  It  Is.    This  chain — the 


239 


GREEN    GINGER 


owner  of  this  chain  may  see  that  no  substitution 
has  been  made — is  in  the  inside  coat-pocket,  on 
the  left.     Remember  that,  please." 

The  company,  vastly  interested,  watched  the 
apparent  return  of  each  trinket,  but  Johnson 
knew  better.  Nothing  but  the  conjurer's  fingers 
entered  each  pocket  in  turn,  and  nothing  re- 
mained there  at  all.  Somewhere  within  the 
breast  of  the  conjurer's  coat  was  a  spot  over 
which  his  fingers  flickered  instantaneously  after 
each  pocket  was  done  with;  and  when  at  last  he 
turned  away,  ostentatiously  dusting  his  fingers 
with  his  pocket-handkerchief  after  the  contam- 
ination of  Johnson,  the  handkerchief  also 
flickered  over  that  same  spot.  So  much  Johnson 
observed  with  eyes  trained  by  use  in  all  matters 
concerned  with  pockets. 

The  conjurer  stepped  between  Johnson  and 
the  company,  putting  his  pocket-handkerchief 
into  his  coat-tail  pocket ;  and  Johnson  saw  that 
something  black  went  with  it. 

"Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  con- 
jurer, "the  experiment  I  am  about  to  make  is  one 
of  the  greatest  interest  to  every  law-abiding 
person.  I  propose  to  show  you  how,  by  proper 
scientific  precautions  known  only  to  myself,  all 
theft,  all  dishonesty,  may  be  rendered  ineffectual 
and  useless." 

Gesticulating  and  bowing  elegantly  as  he 
spoke,  the  conjurer  stepped  so  closely  before 

24Q 


GREEN    GINGER 


Johnson  that  only  one  thing  could  happen,  and 
that  was  inevitable.  Johnson  had  nothing  but 
one  small  talent,  as  I  have  said;  he  could  pick  a 
pocket  very  well  indeed — probably  better  than 
the  conjurer.  He  picked  one  now.  The  black 
thing  was  a  little  velvet  bag,  soft  and  flat,  as 
Johnson  felt  when  it  was  safely  in  his  own 
pocket.  And  the  conjurer,  with  all  eyes  on  him, 
went  on. 

"Just  consider,  now,  how  valuable  my  process 
would  be  to  the  Government  of  this  country. 
Half  the  police  force  might  be  disbanded,  and 
most  of  the  magistrates  pensioned  off.  People 
like  our  friend  Johnson,  alias  Jones,  alias  Bar- 
ker, alias  Jenkinson,  would  have  to  turn  honest, 
or  starve.     Now  for  the  experiment." 

He  turned  and  caught  Johnson  once  more  by 
the  collar.  "Here  you  see.  Is  the  pickpocket 
whom  I  brought  straight  out  of  Oxford  Street 
by  the  exercise  of  the  wonderful  scientific  law  to 
which  I  have  alluded.  Here  he  is,  with  your 
valuables  in  his  pockets,  as  you  have  observed 
with  your  own  eyes.  Now  I  shall  send  Johnson 
away — turn  him  out,  kick  him  out — from  this 
place,  and  let  him  run  where  he  likes;  and  when 
he  is  gone  I  shall  endeavor,  by  my  scientific 
process,  to  bring  your  valuables  back  here,  just 
as  I  brought  Johnson  himself,  and  restore  them 
to  you  in  a  way  that  I  hope  will  surprise  you. 
Now  Johnson,  alias  Jones,  alias  Barker,  alias 

2411 


GREEN    GINGER 


Jenklnson,  out  you  go,  and  keep  what  you've 
got  if  you  can!  Ladies  and  gentlemen  you  will 
agree  that  I  could  not  afford  to  kick  a  confeder- 
ate— he  would  give  me  away.  So  as  a  guarantee 
of  good  faith  I  kick  Johnson  off  the  platform. 
Hall-porter!  Run  this  man  off  the  premises, 
and  never  let  him  come  here  again !" 

He  swung  Johnson  to  the  end  of  the  platform, 
thrust  him  over  the  edge  with  hand  and  foot, 
and  stood  bowing  and  waving  his  wand  as  the 
porter  bundled  the  victim  out.  "Good-bye,  Mr. 
Johnson!"  cried  the  conjurer;  "good-bye!  Run 
as  hard  as  ever  you  can !" 

As  soon  as  Johnson  reached  the  street  he 
obeyed  this  order  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
legs,  barely  observing  from  the  corner  of  his  eye 
that  the  front  of  the  hall  was  covered  with 
posters  announcing  afternoon  and  evening  per- 
formances by  the  great  Lucifo,  the  Wizard  of 
Andalusia.  And  when  he  had  run  some  distance 
he  turned  Into  a  dark  entry  and  there  disentan- 
gled from  the  velvet  bag  the  gold  watch,  the 
three  rings,  the  chain,  the  gold  pencil-case,  and 
the  silver  match-box. 

"He  was  mighty  anxious,"  reflected  Johnson, 
"for  some  proof  that  I  wasn't  his  pal.  Well, 
he's  got  it  now,  and  I  hope  he's  satisfied." 

For  some  days  Johnson  never  ventured  out 
till  after  dark;  but  his  days  at  home  were  not 
dull,  for  he  had  bought  a  small  collection  of 

,242 


GREEN    GINGER 


newspapers;  wherefrom  he  derived  solace  and 
chuckles,  as  he  read  and  read  again  under  the 
headings:  "Riotous  Scene  at  an  Entertainment," 
"Extraordinary  Occurrence  at  St.  Basil's  Hall," 
"Serious  Attack  on  a  Conjurer";  and,  in  the 
case  of  an  irresponsible  halfpenny  evening  paper, 
"Lucifo  Lamentably  Left." 


^43 


ARTS  AND  CRAFTS 

IN  the  early  fifties  a  stranger  in  the  parlor  of 
the  Castle  Inn  at  Hadleigh  was  rarity 
enough,  but  a  stranger  sleeping  in  the  house 
for  two  nights  was  almost  beyond  precedent. 
But  at  the  time  of  this  tale  the  stranger  was 
there,  visible  at  a  great  distance  because  of  his 
size  and  the  redness  of  his  face,  and  audible 
farther  because  of  a  very  assertive  and  persistent 
voice,  too  large  even  for  the  man.  The  man  was 
Mr.  Peter  Fossett  of  Kelvedon,  who  had  come 
to  take  over  a  stock  of  sheep;  and  on  the  evening 
of  his  arrival  the  parlor  at  the  Castle  was  so 
full  of  Mr.  Peter  Fossett  that  the  more  regular 
company  seemed  to  be  squeezed  into  the  corners. 
Even  Abel  Pennyfather  was  less  noisy  and  less 
boastful.  Old  Harry  Prentice  and  Banham  the 
carrier  were  much  impressed,  but  the  waggish 
sparkle  of  Dan  Fisk's  squint  waxed  as  the 
evening  wore  on. 

The  stranger  ("foreigner"  was  the  word 
among  the  older  Hadleigh  people)  was  a  farmer 
exceptionally  well-to-do  by  the  merit  of  his 
fathers  before  him.  He  had  ridden  the  thirty 
miles  on  a  handsome  mare,  with  a  man  to  drive 
the  sheep  back,  and  while  the  master  took  his 
ease  with  brandy-and-water  in  the  parlor,  the 

244 


GREEN    GINGER 


man  took  beer  and  dispensed  Information  in  the 
taproom.  It  was  not  so  much  of  his  possessions 
and  his  prosperity  that  Mr.  Peter  Fossett  talked 
in  the  parlor — that  matter  expanded  freely 
enough  from  the  man  in  the  taproom — but  of 
his  most  amazing  sagacity  and  unbounded  smart- 
ness ;  whereof  he  had  many  anecdotes,  not  always 
clear  in  front,  though  all  unfailingly  satisfactory 
to  Mr.  Fossett,  and  mightily  redounding  to  his 
glory  and  triumph. 

"I  ha'n't  been  a-nigh  Hadleigh  afore  in  my 
life,"  said  Mr.  Fossett,  unflaggingly  providing 
the  conversation  and  keeping  it  to  the  same 
subject.  "Never  before,  though  I'm  turned  o' 
thirty.  I'm  a  Kelvedon  man,  an'  I've  took  a 
rise  out  o'  some  of  'em  in  most  parts  of  Essex — 
ah,  an'  London  too,  once  or  twice — an'  now  I've 
come  here.  You've  got  an  oad  chap  here  I 
mean  to  have  a  look  at,  'fore  I  go  back.  I've 
heard  a  deal  of  him  here  an'  there  about  Essex; 
him  they  call  Cunning  Murrell,  I  mean." 

"Ah,  Cunning  Murrell,  eh?"  interjected  Dan 
FIsk,  scenting  amusement.  "If  you've  come 
here  to  take  a  rise  out  o'  he,  you'd  better  stop 
a  bit  an'  rent  a  house." 

Mr.  Fossett  turned  his  beefy  face  slowly 
toward  Dan  Fisk's  corner.  "Ho!"  he  said, 
with  a  voice  of  vast  scorn,  "you're  one  o'  them 
as  believes  In  him,  I  count?" 

Dan  beamed  gently.    "Ay,  sarten  to  say,"  he 

H5 


GREEN    GINGER 


admitted,  "Cunning  Murrell  be  a  monsus  clever 
man." 

"Herbs  an'  cures  an'  surveyin',"  murmured 
Banham. 

"Witchcraft  an'  things  stole,"  Prentice  added, 
with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"Fortunes  in  the  stars,"  added  Jobson. 

"An'  wisions  in  a  pail,"  said  another.  "Sayin' 
nothen'  o'  warts  cured  overnight." 

"Ah!  Fortunes  in  the  stars  an'  wisions  in  a 
pail !"  blared  the  stranger  contemptuously.  "A 
monsus  clever  man,  sarten  to  say — for  Had- 
leigh!" 

"Cunnin'  Murr'll  be  knowed  arl  over  Essex 
an'  farther,"  maintained  Jobson. 

"Ay,  true  enough.  Fools  an'  their  gammick 
go  everywhere.  Your  oad  Murrell  may  be 
mighty  clever  for  Hadleigh,  but  he  wouldn't  do 
for  Kelvedon — not  he !  Not  with  me  at  home, 
he  wouldn't !  'Tis  sarten  he  seems  to  come  it 
over  you  mighty  easy,  but  I  hoad  a  pound  he 
can't  come  over  me!  Not  he!  I'm  going  to 
have  a  look  at  this  oad  curiosity  with  his  fortun'- 
tellin'  an'  wisions  in  buckets.  He  don't  come 
over  me  with  such  truck !" 

"Ay,  I  count  you  be  a  man  not  easy  took  in, 
Master  Fossett,  sir,"  cooed  Dan  Fisk,  in  honeyed 
tones,  whereat  anybody  who  knew  Dan  would 
have  taken  warning.  But  the  stranger  knew  not 
Dan,  and  went  on  vaingloriously. 

246 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Ay,  I  count  I  be,"  he  said.  "You  needn't 
take  it  from  me — ask  anywhere  I'm  knowed. 
Lord,  I  dunno  where  I'd  be  if  I  weren't.  Why 
I'd  ha'  bin  married,  for  one  thing,  long  afore 
this.     But  I  ain't!" 

"Ah,"  murmured  Dan,  "I  count  there  be  a 
mortial  great  competition." 

"Ay,  mayhap,"  answered  Mr.  Fossett,  com- 
placently, "though  'taren't  my  ways  to  talk 
o'  that.  But  I  ain't  met  man  or  woman 
yet  as  could  get  the  better  o'  me,  an'  I've 
a-been  about  the  world  a  bit,  too — twice 
in  London,  an'  Ipswich  an'  Colchester — an' 
I've  larned  a  sight  too  much  to  be  took  in  by 
such  oad  fellars  as  this  here  Murrell  o' 
yourn." 

"Well,"  observed  Prentice,  "he  ha'n't  tried 
to  take  you  in  yet." 

"True  'tis,"  replied  Fossett,  "though  I  most 
mighty  wish  he  would!  Ay,  I  count  I'd  like 
him  to  try!" 

"  'Tis  easy  enough  to  let  him  try,"  remarked 
Dan  Fisk;  "easy  enough  if  you  ben't  afeared 
of  him." 

"Afeared  of  him !  Do  I  fare  afeared  of  him? 
An — oad — oad — why,  I'll  show  him  up  afore  ye 
all !  I'll  make  ye  laugh  at  him,  here  in  Hadleigh, 
that  I  will !  If  he  ben't  afeared  to  face  me,  that 
is!" 

"Oh,  he'll  see  ye,  if  ye  go  businesslike  in  the 

247 


GREEN    GINGER 


mornin'.  He's  not  to  know  his  mortial  danger. 
'Tis  a  cur'ous  venture!" 

"I'll  go!     I'll  hev  a  joke  on  oad  Murrell!" 

And  so  between  the  doubts  of  the  rest  and 
the  careful  management  of  Dan  FIsk,  alternately 
flattering  and  challenging,  Mr.  Peter  Fossett  was 
brought  to  promise  a  vast  exposure  of  Murrell 
on  the  morrow.  And  by  the  time  he  had  gone 
to  bed  he  had  been  brought  to  hint  darkly  at 
schemes  of  preternatural  sagacity  whereby  the 
whole  Murrell  superstition  should  be  exposed  to 
the  eternal  derision  of  Essex,  beginning  at  Had- 
leigh  itself;  and  generally  to  proclaim  Cunning 
Murrell  already  a  vanquished  humbug. 

Nevertheless  he  went  to  bed  far  fuller  of 
brandy-and-water  than  of  schemes,  and  woke  in 
the  morning  with  no  schemes  at  all.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Fossett  was  not  a  man  of  invention,  though  he 
was  none  the  less  self-confident  on  that  account. 
He  finished  his  large  breakfast,  stretched  his 
large  limbs,  and  rolled  out  into  Hadleigh  street 
resolved  to  gratify  his  curiosity  by  a  call  on 
Cunning  Murrell,  and  in  no  sort  doubtful  of 
his  ability  to  put  the  wise  man's  inventions  to 
rout.  His  scheme  should  come,  he  promised 
himself,  when  he  heard  what  Murrell  had  to  say. 
And  so  it  did. 

It  was  scarce  a  score  of  lazy  steps  to  Murrell's 
cottage,  in  the  little  black  row  that  stood  almost 
by  the  side  of  the  inn  garden.     Mr.  Fossett's 

248 


GREEN    GINGER 


Justy  rap  brought  a  high-pitched  call  of  "Come 
yow  in!"  and  with  that  he  clicked  the  latch  and 
met  Cunning  Murrell. 

The  little  old  man  sat  at  a  little  table,  and  the 
whole  room  about  him  was  hung  and  stacked 
with  dried  herbs  in  bundles.  Murrell's  eyes, 
sharp  and  quick  as  a  weasel's,  ran  the  length  of 
Mr.  Fossett  top  to  toe. 

"Shut  the  door  and  sit,"  said  Murrel  sharply, 
pointing  to  a  chair,  "and  tell  me  your  business." 

Mr.  Fossett,  in  no  way  abashed  by  this  abrupt- 
ness, dropped  into  the  chair,  spread  his  legs  and 
rolled  his  head  waggishly. 

"No,  no.  Master  Murrell,"  he  answered.  "I 
come  here  to  larn  from  you  an'  first  you  ask  me 
a  question.  Now  I  count  so  larned  an'  cunnin'  a 
man  as  you  be  should  know  me  an'  my  business 
afore  I  tell  it." 

"As  to  who  you  be,"  the  old  man  replied, 
*'that  I  know  well  enough.  Mr.  Peter  Fossett, 
o'  Gatpoles  Farm,  Kelvedon.  A  man  o'  money, 
if  'tis  said  true,  an'  Gatpoles  Farm  be  five  hun- 
dred acres.    Am  I  right?" 

"Ay,  'tis  true  enough." 

"But  'tis  no  claim  o'  my  art  to  know  that," 
the  old  man  went  on.  "You're  the  only  stranger 
in  the  place,  an'  folks  talk.  Your  man  talks,  an' 
arl  Hadleigh  knows  as  much  as  I've  told  'ee  by 
this.  But  as  to  your  business  with  me,  'tis  no 
such  plain  matter.     D'ye  wish  me  to  tell  it?" 


249 


GREEN  GINGER 


"Ay,  Master  Murr'll,  I  do." 

"Then  'tis  proper  I  work  it  by  geomancy. 
'Tis  a  cur'ous  art,  an'  known  to  few.  I  take  a 
paper,  thus,  an'  I  write  your  name,  so.  There 
be  twelve  letters  in  that  name,  and  I  divide  them 
into  fower  threes.  I  putt  down  they  fower  threes 
one  above  another,  so.  Now  take  you  the  pen 
an'  make  a  row  o'  plain  strokes  opposite  each 
three.  Stop  when  you  please,  and  don't  count 
as  you  do't,  or  arl  will  spile." 

Mr.  Peter  Fossett,  willing  to  give  his  victim 
plenty  of  rope,  took  the  paper  and  obeyed. 
With  a  blot  and  a  smudge  here  and  there,  four 
heavily  fisted  rows  of  strokes  presently  appeared 
on  the  paper  opposite  the  letters,  and  then 
Murrell  took  the  paper  and  considered  it  with 
anxious  care. 

"You  hev  wrote  these  strokes  in  order  op- 
posite the  letters  in  fower  rows,  without  countin' 
any  row,"  he  said.  "Good.  Now  I  work  this 
geomantic  figure." 

The  old  man's  pen  hovered  a  moment  over 
the  letters  and  strokes,  and  then  descended  to 
describe  a  group  of  ciphers  at  the  end  of  each 
row.  This  done,  he  began  another  group  of 
ciphers  below  the  whole  muddle,  dotting  his 
pen  here  and  there  among  the  letters,  strokes, 
and  ciphers  above,  and  deriving  his  lower  group, 
by  some  mysterious  mathematic,  from  his  upper. 

"Right  witness;  left  witness;  judge,"  he  said 

250 


GREEN    GINGER 


thoughtfully,  carrying  his  pen  from  one  cipher 
to  another.  "Here  I  read  much  that  would 
surprise  you.  Your  reason  for  coming  here  now ; 
you  ask  me  to  tell  you  that?" 

*'Ay,  I'd  mighty  like  you  to  guess  it!" 

"Guess  it  I  will  not,  for  there's  no  need.  By 
my  cur'ous  arts  I  can  know  for  sarten.  Master 
Fossett,  you  be  most  desperate  in  love!" 

Mr.  Fossett's  first  impulse  was  to  guffaw 
aloud.  Cunning  Murrell's  guess  was  the  farthest 
thing  from  his  mind,  and  one  he  had  never 
dreamed  of.  But  he  held  in  his  mirth  by  a 
choking  effort,  and  dissembled,  for  he  began  to 
scheme  vaguely  at  last.  More  rope,  he  thought, 
more  rope  for  this  amazing  old  fool  to  hang 
himself  high  as  Haman. 

"Master  Murrell!"  he  exclaimed,  "that  be 
the  most  surprisin'  'zact  guess  that  ever  I  hev 
heard!    Wonnerful !" 

"  'Tis  no  guess,  I  tell  'ee.  Master  Fossett. 
'Tis  no  guess,  but  sarten  knowledge  by  my  lawful 
arts." 

"Then  if  it  be  no  guess,"  answered  Fossett, 
following  his  opportunity,  "maybe  you  can  just 
as  easy  tell  me  the  lady's  name?" 

Cunning  Murrell  shook  his  head  sadly.  "You 
be  mighty  hard  o'  belief,  Master  Fossett,"  he 
said,  "but  if  you  want  more  proof,  more  you 
shall  have,  plensheous  more.  Can  I  tell 
'ee    the    lady's    name?      For  sarten    truth    I 

251 


GREEN    GINGER 


can  an'  will,  an'  that  without  another  word." 

He  returned  to  his  geomantic  formula  and 
studied  it  afresh.  "You  hev  put  your  hand  to 
this  unknowin',"  he  said,  "and  all  your  thoughts 
lie  bare  to  him  who  hev  the  art  to  read  the 
figure.  Her  name — her  name — let  me  see  now ; 
her  given  name  be  Ann!" 

If  Mr,  Fossett  had  not  been  a  stranger,  he 
would  have  begun  to  feel  uneasy.  But,  confident 
in  ignorance,  he  chuckled  inwardly,  for  the  old 
man  was  adding  blunder  to  blunder.  The  sole 
human  creature  called  Ann  whom  Fossett  could 
remember  was  his  own  grandmother.  This 
should  come  out,  that  very  night,  in  the  Castle 
parlor  to  Murrell's  face,  if  but  he  could  be 
brought  there  among  his  neighbors.  Meanwhile, 
let  the  old  humbug  be  drawn  farther  into  the 
net. 

"Master  Murrell,  you  surprise  me  more  and 
more.  'Tis  prophecy,  nothin'  else.  Though  'tis 
true  Ann  be  a  name  christened  to  more'n  one. 
D'ye  get  her  other  name  too?" 

"Her  other  name,"  Murrell  answered  deliber- 
ately, dropping  his  eyes  and  his  pen  once  more 
to  the  paper,  "her  other  name — yes;  her — her 
other  name  is  p'inted  out  by  the  figure  in  letters 
of  your  own  name — the  first  two  an'  the  last  two. 
Her  other  name  I  read  is  Pett — Pett  with  two 
t's — Ann  Pett  is  the  whole  name!" 

Fossett  the  stranger,  apprehending  nothing, 

252 


GREEN    GINGER 


gazed  upward  at  the  herbs  depending  from  the 
ceiling,  and  whistled  to  keep  his  mouth  from  a 
grin.  This  was  magnificent.  Possibly  there 
were  people  in  the  world  of  the  name  of  Pett, 
but  quite  certainly  he  had  never  heard  that 
name  till  this  moment.  The  old  simpleton  was 
floundering  worse  at  every  step.  What  a  show- 
up  for  him  in  the  evening  at  the  Castle!  What 
an  unadulterated  lark !  More  rope  for  the  self- 
strangulation  of  Cunning  Murrell ! 

"Whew!  That  do  beat  arl !"  cried  Mr. 
Fossett.  "Ann  Pett,  sarten  to  say!  That  there 
blessed  name  as  hev  been  what's-a-naming  itself 
on  my  heart  like  a  thingumbob  !  'Tis  outrageous 
wonnerful !  Master  Murrell,  you  be  the  most 
scientific  oad  pusson  in  Essex;  the  hull  world  be 
knowed  to  ye  like  a  book.  An'  what  will  ye  do 
next,  Master  Murrell?'* 

"Next?"  repeated  Cunning  Murrell,  plainly 
gratified  by  his  client's  enthusiasm.  "Next  I 
do  what  most  you  wish.  'Tis  plain  you  den't 
come  here  onny  to  be  told  what  you  know. 
You  come  here  to  ask  my  help,  an'  my  help  you 
shall  hev.  I  will  give  'ee  your  heart's  wish;  her 
stubborn  heart  shall  be  overcome,  and  Ann  Pett 
shall  be  drawed  toward  'ee,  an'  marry  her  you 
shall.     'Tis  what  you're  longing,  ben't  it?" 

"Ay,  Master  Murrell,  what  else?"  the  visitor 
assured  him,  shaking  with  interior  mirth.  "  'Tis 
what    Fm    longin'    most    hainish    powerful." 

253 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Good  then.  Here  is  more  paper.  Write 
on  the  one  piece  your  own  name  and  Ann 
Pett's  on  the  other." 

This  feat  Mr.  Fossett  accomplished,  with  a 
great  squaring  of  elbows.  Murrell  took  the  two 
papers,  and  filled  a  glass  with  water.  Then, 
twisting  the  papers  together,  he  lighted  them 
with  a  match  and  let  the  black  ashes  drop  into 
the  water  till  no  paper  was  left. 

"So  it  must  stand  for  two  hours,  and  then 
I  shall  deal  further,"  observed  Murrell,  putting 
the  glass  on  a  shelf  and  covering  it  with  a  saucer. 
"Those  words,  that  seem  to  be  gone,  shall  be 
carried  to  the  mind  of  Ann  Pett  by  cur'ous  an' 
subtile  arts.  An'  more  shall  follow.  Take  you 
a  paper  more,  and  write  as  I  shall  tell.  Write 
plain:  'Tis  Ann  Pettis  my  heart's  love.  Have 
'ee  got  that?" 

"Ay,  that's  down,"  Fossett  replied,  winking 
genially  at  the  paper. 

"'Tis  Ann  Pett  is  my  heart's  love.  'Tis  my 
wish  she  be  my  wife,  and  thereto  I  give  pledge. 
Is't  arl  down?" 

"Give  pledge,"  repeated  Fossett,  with  his 
tongue  curled  at  the  side  of  his  mouth  as  he 
looped  the  "g."    "Ay,  'tis  there." 

"Now  sign." 

"Sign?" 

"Yes,  full  name.  'Tis  naught  without  your 
own  written  name." 


254 


GREEN    GINGER 


"There  't  be,  then.  But  don't  you  burn  that 
too?" 

"Not  till  the  right  time.  T'other  must  stand 
two  hours,  as  I  told  'ee,  an'  I  do  nothen'  with 
this  till  then.  How  far  or  how  near  Ann 
Pett  be  at  this  moment  I  don't  know,  though 
to  find  that  would  be  easy  enough  for  me.  But 
far  or  near,  north,  south,  east  or  west,  these 
words  will  go  to  her  by  ways  you  don't  dream 
of  an'  draw  her  an'  draw  her,  Master  Fossett. 
'Tis  enough.     I  hev  other  work." 

There  was  a  timid  rap  of  knuckles  on  the 
front  door.  Mr.  Fossett  rose  reluctantly, 
for  there  was  no  moderation  in  his  tri- 
umph, and  he  wished  to  draw  Murrell  still 
more. 

"Ben't  there  nothin'  else  you'll  tell  me.  Master 
Murrell?"  he  asked.  "I  fare  that  monsus  bad  in 
love,  that  'twould  be  a  mussy  to  tell  me  any- 
thin'." 

"Ay,  I  make  no  doubt.  But  wait — till  to- 
night, at  any  rate." 

"To-night,  Master  Murrell?  D'ye  think  she 
can  be  drawed  to  me  as  soon  as  that?" 

"I  make  no  promise,  Master  Fossett,  but  'tis 
arl  a  possibility." 

"Master  Murrell,  will  'ee  come  to  me  to-night 
at  the  Castle  parlor?  Come  to  me  there,  an' 
I'll  pay  'ee  handsome." 

"  'Tis  no  habit  o'  mine,  the  Castle  parlor," 

2SS 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  old  man  replied;  "but  come  I  will,  since  you 
ask.    At  eight  o'clock." 

"Thankee,  Master  Murrell,  thankee.  An'  if 
you  can  show  then,  fair  and  clear,  you've  done 
all  ye  say,  if  you'll  draw  her  to  me,  I'll  pay  a 
fi'-pun'  note  and  glad!     I'll  hev  it  ready!" 

Mr.  Fossett  passed  the  little  girl  who  had 
come  for  ointment,  and  turned  into  the  quiet 
Castle  Lane  to  explode.  Truly  this  was  a 
most  magnificent  go !  He  could  scarcely  have 
imagined  anybody  so  utterly  giving  himself  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy  as  this  misnamed  Cun- 
ning Murrell  had  done.  That  evening  in  the 
Castle  parlor  there  should  be  fun.  Hadleigh 
should  witness  the  confounding  of  Murrell  by 
the  revelation  that  there  was  no  Ann  Pett  in 
existence,  and  that  consequently  the  triumphant 
Fossett  could  not  have  fallen  in  love  with  her, 
even  if  that  weakness  had  been  at  all  in  his  way, 
which  it  wasn't.  Therewith  and  therefore  that 
Murrell  was  but  a  feeble  humbug,  captive  to  the 
bow  and  spear  of  that  same  unconquerable 
Fossett. 

He  did  his  business  that  day  with  interruptions 
of  ecstatic  chuckling.  He  spread  hints  abroad 
that  the  total  extinction  of  Murrell  was  ap- 
pointed for  eight  that  evening  in  the  parlor  of 
the  Castle;  and  he  was  there,  with  an  uncom- 
monly full  company,  long  before  the  hour.  To 
all  inquiries  he  opposed  a  wink,  a  grin,  and  a 

256 


GREEN    GINGER 


shake  of  the  head.  Not  a  word  would  he  say 
to  spoil  the  show;  he  would  merely  promise — ■ 
and  that  he  did  a  hundred  times — that  the  fun 
should  be  well  worth  the  waiting. 

The  cunning  man  was  punctual.  The  hour 
was  at  its  seventh  stroke  when  he  appeared, 
small,  sharp,  shiny-hatted  and  calm.  "Good- 
evenin',  neighbors,"  he  piped  in  his  thin  voice. 
*'Good  to  ye  arl.  I  den't  expect  to  find  so  many 
here." 

"Ah,  'tis  business  o'  mine,  but  never  mind 
that,"  said  the  eager  Fossett,  with  a  wink  at  the 
expectant  company.  "This  most  as-tonishin' 
scientific  neighbor  o'  yourn,  genelmen,  hev  done 
sich  as-tonishin'  things  to-day,  that  I'll  hev  no 
secrets  from  ye  arl,  so  surprisin'  it  be.  I  went 
to  see  Master  Murrell  this  mornin',  genelmen, 
an'  he  knowed  what  I  came  for  afore  I  told  him  ! 
He  told  me,  slap  out,  that  1  was  most  desperate 
in  love!     In  love!     Me!" 

Mr.  Fossett  looked  about  him  and  grinned, 
with  a  second  wink. 

"He  told  me  I  was  in  love,"  he  proceeded, 
"an'  he  made  count  to  tell  me  the  gal's  name. 
He  did  a  little  game  of  naughts  and  crosses,  an' 
he  counted  it  out  o'  that.  He  counted  out  the 
name,  genelmen,  and  he  told  me  it.  It  were 
Ann  Pett !  Genelmen !  you'll  be  mighty  in- 
terested to  know  I'm  most  desperate  in  love 
with  Ann  Pett !" 

257 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Ann  Pett !"  gasped  Prentice  and  Jobson 
together.  And  others  on  every  side  repeated 
"Ann  Pett!"  staring  like  crabs.  Dan  Fisk  set 
up  a  fit  of  laughter  that  lasted,  with  intervals,  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening. 

"Ah,  Ann  Pett!  Ye  well  may  laugh!  An' 
here's  a  fi'-pun'  note  Pm  to  pay  if  he  draws  her 
an'  draws  her  so  artful  an'  cunning  to  me  this 
very  evenin' !  This  Ann  Pett  what  I  love  so 
true,  genelmen !" 

Prentice  and  Jobson  began  laughing  now,  and 
Dan  Fisk  took  a  corner  of  the  note  and  pushed 
it  toward  Murrell.  "Go  on,"  he  cried,  in  a 
gasp,  "he'll  do  it— he'll  do  it !" 

There  was  something  in  the  faces  about  him 
that  Mr.  Fossett  had  not  expected.  He  checked 
his  grin  and  stared  about  him.  With  that 
Cunning  Murrell  spoke. 

"  'Tis  true  enough,  neighbors,"  he  said,  with 
simple  composure.  "This  very  suitable  an'  well- 
to-do  young  man  hev  come  to  me  an'  confessed 
himself  most  hopeless  in  love  with  Ann  Pett. 
He  hev  further  give  me  a  document,  signed 
all  regular,  pledgin'  to  marry  her;  the  kind 
of  document  there's  no  answering  to  in  a 
promise-breach  case,  such  as  might  occur 
with  other  couples,  where  the  young  man 
ain't  smitten  so  deadly  deep  as  Master  Fossett 
be." 

Fossett,  slow  of  apprehension,  but  stricken 

258 


GREEN    GINGER 


with  a  vague  fear,  gasped:  "What?  That 
paper?    Den't  you  burn  it?" 

"Burn  it?  Why  no,  sarten  to  say.  'Twould 
be  poor  respect  to  such  a  document  as  that,  an' 
foolish,  to  burn  it.  Well,  neighbors,  as  I  were 
sayin',  considerin'  arl  things,  an'  seein'  how 
desperate  this  young  man  implored  me  to  draw 
Ann  Pett  to  him " 

"Ann  Pett!"  burst  out  Fossett.  "There 
ben't  no  Ann  Pett!" 

"That's  an  unreasonable  remark  for  a  man 
so  fond  of  her  by  witness  of  his  own  hand- 
writin',"  the  old  man  went  on  gently,  "Well, 
neighbors,  to  make  short,  I  hev  drawed  her  to 
him.  Mr.  Fossett  be  a  very  good  match  for  a 
darter  o'  mine,  as  things  go,  especially  a  widder 
darter,  with  few  chances  at  her  age.  You'll  find 
Pve  earned  your  fi'-pun'  note,  Mr,  Fossett,  Ann  ! 
Ann  Pett!" 

Murrell  opened  the  door  and  called  into  the 
outer  passage.  And  at  his  call  came  Ann  Pett, 
wizen  as  her  father,  thin  and  sharp  and  worn, 
with  her  wisp  of  mouse-grey  hair  straggling  from 
under  a  shawl.  She  stood  in  the  doorway  and 
stared,  at  first  all  vacant  incomprehension,  and 
then  with  some  irritation  at  the  storm  of  guffaws 
that  raged  unaccountably  before  her. 

Mr.  Peter  Fossett  gurgled,  gulped,  blinked 
and  shrank.  He  looked  wildly  about  him,  but 
in  the  only  door  stood  Ann  Pett,  now  beginning 

259 


GREEN    GINGER 


to  bridle  and  snarl  at  the  mirth  she  could  not 
comprehend.  Then  with  a  despairing  snatch  at 
his  wits  Mr.  Fossett  caught  Murrell  by  the  arm 
and  gasped  in  his  ear:  "Hev  she  seen  that 
paper?" 

Murrell,  unruffled,  regarded  his  victim. 

"That  I  don't  answer,"  he  said.  "But  what 
if  she  hev  not?" 

"I'm  done — I'll  buy  it.     Come  outside." 

Next  week  Cunning  Murrell  was  observed  in 
a  new  blue  coat,  with  brass  buttons. 


?^o 


WICKS'S  WATERLOO 

I  FIND  that  in  the  mental  perspective  of 
most  people,  the  days  of  the  Kent  and  Essex 
smugglers  lie  very  far  back,  while  in  my 
own  they  stand  surprisingly  near.  It  is  habit  of 
mind,  and  nothing  more.  Those  days  were  gone 
before  mine  began;  though  not  only  have  I  seen 
and  talked  with  grey  old  smugglers  on  the  Essex 
coast,  but  I  have  even  tasted  the  white  brandy  of 
such  astonishing  strength,  which  they  brought 
over  in  the  light  "tubs"  of  three  or  four  gallons' 
capacity.  I  tasted  it  on  my  twenty-first  birthday, 
forty  years  and  more  after  it  had  been  smuggled; 
and  It  came  from  an  unsuspected  secret  store  of 
Roboshobery  Dove's,  who  thus  designed  to 
honor  my  majority.  The  treat  was  accompanied 
with  much  sage  advice  on  my  entry  on  manhood, 
as  was  proper  from  this  old  man  of  ninety  and 
rather  more,  who  had  fought  the  French  afloat 
as  a  boy;  but  a  lecture  twice  as  long,  from  one  in 
no  such  way  endeared  to  me  as  was  he,  could  not 
have  marred  the  memory  of  that  amazing  drink, 
so  mild  and  mellow  and  soft,  albeit  a  dilution  of 
four  times  as  much  water  was  needed  to  tame  its 
strength.  If  one  is  asked  for  dates  by  haters  of 
foggy  arithmetic,  then  it  is  enough  to  say  that 

261 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  last  isolated  attempt  to  run  a  cargo  of  brandy 
on  the  Essex  coast  failed  In  the  year  1854;  and 
that  the  trade  was  falling  out  of  use  a  decade 
earlier. 

So  It  happened  that  my  majority  was  cele- 
brated from  what  was  probably  the  very  last  tub 
of  "run"  spirits  remaining  In  Essex — perhaps  In 
all  England;  and  the  tale  which  never  failed  to 
season  Roboshobery's  moral  discourse  was  on 
this  occasion  the  tale  of  the  run — one  of  the  last 
successful  ventures — which  brought  over  this 
very  tub  and  about  four  score  more. 

"If  I'd  ha'  been  a  man  o'  money,  sir,"  the 
old  man  said,  "I  might  ha'  given  you  a  birthday 
compliment  of  greater  cost;  but  I  count  it  might 
ha'  been  easier  forgotten.  An'  If  you  want  still 
more  to  remember  It  by,  why,  I'll  tell  'ee  this: 
the  bringing  over  o'  that  very  brandy  was  the 
cause  of  the  very  first  teetotal  meetin'  in  Essex. 
Nothin'  to  be  proud  of  p'r'aps,  but  a  curiosity; 
'an  'tis  my  belief  that  if  such  stuff  as  this  could 
ha'  come  over  with  no  hindrance  all  along, 
there'd  never  ha'  been  a  teetotal  meetin'  In  Essex 
to  this  very  day." 

Here  I  solemnly  apologize  for  my  old  friend. 
His  was  an  earlier  age,  before  many  of  our 
modern  morals  had  been  Invented,  and  before 
we  had  discovered  how  much  more  respectable 
we  are  than  our  fathers.  At  the  same  time,  with 
the  taste  and  scent  of  that  ineffable  white  brandy 

262 


GREEN    GINGER 


present  to  my  senses,  I  was  mightily  disposed 
to  agree  with  his  conjecture. 

"It  was  after  the  new  coastguard  was  formed 
as  that  came  over,"  the  old  man  went  on,  "and 
it  was  mostly  the  new  coastguard  as  helped  to 
kill  smuggling.  It  went  on  pretty  well  though, 
hereabout,  for  some  years;  we'd  got  a  sleepy  oad 
chief  officer,  a  good  deal  too  fat  for  his  business, 
and  Leigh  windows  were  cleaned  with  Dutch  gin 
right  up  to  forty  years  ago.  But  just  about 
this  time  there  came  a  mighty  smart  an'  knowin' 
chief-boatman  this  way,  promoted  from  some- 
where right  off — Poole,  I  think  they  said.  His 
name  were  Wicks — Archibald  Wicks,  to  be  com- 
plete— and  he  were  so  very  mighty  smart  as  to 
be  very  near  as  smart  as  he  thought  hisself,  and 
that  were  saying  a  deal.  He  hadn't  done  with 
promotion  either,  had  Master  Archie  Wicks, 
chief-boatman  as  he  were.  You  see  it  were  a 
time  of  changes  in  the  sarvice,  an'  'twas  thought 
promotions  might  be  made  higher  still  for  some 
men;  they  might  be  chief-officers,  'twas  rumored, 
or  anything;  an'  if  such  promotions  were  to 
come  to  pass  Master  Archie  made  up  his  mind  to 
have  one  o'  the  first.  If  the  chief-officer  liked 
to  go  to  sleep  an'  wait  for  his  pension.  Master 
Archie  Wicks  was  the  last  to  object;  but  he  kept 
himself  mighty  jumpy  up  an'  down  the  station, 
an'  he  tried  a  number  of  new  dodges  that  sad 
upset  a  lot  o'  people  hereabout,  an'  sent  a  good 

263 


GREEN    GINGER 


few  tubs  of  tJiis  sort  the  wrong  way.  For  one 
thing,  he  had  a  most  astonishin'  takin'  way  with 
the  women.  He  was  smart  out  an'  in,  an'  he'd 
go  any  lengths  to  pump  information. 

"Now  at  the  time  I'm  talking  of  the  last 
freighter  about  'here  who  did  anything  large  in 
this  way  was  oad  Tom  Blyth.  You've  heard  tell 
of  'Hard-apple'  Blyth,  of  Paglesham?" 

The  legends  of  that  famous  smuggler,  far 
back  at  the  turn  of  the  century,  were  familiar 
tales  of  my  childhood.  I  had  heard  enough  told 
of  "Hard-apple"  Blyth  to  fill  a  book. 

"Well,  oad  Tom  Blyth  were  his  nephew;  so 
you  see  he  come  of  pretty  tough  stock.  Oad 
Tom  were  the  last  o'  the  big  freighters  here- 
about, and  this  here  brandy  came  in  one  of  his 
last  freights.  There  aren't  no  more  o'  the 
Blyths  left  now,  except  a  darter,  as  were  a  young 
gal  at  the  time. 

"Now  one  of  Master  Wicks's  new  dodges  was 
to  watch  for  the  carriers,  'stead  o'  the  boats. 
You  know  what  that  'ud  mean,  o'  course.  He'd 
let  the  watch  off-shore  go  easy,  an'  he'd  keep 
his  eye  on  one  or  two  o'  the  men  as  was  certain  to 
be  took  on  to  carry  the  tubs  inland  as  soon  as 
they  were  landed.  Like  as  not  one  of  'em  was 
an'  informer.  The  dodge  wasn't  of  great  advan- 
tage except  it  were  unexpected,  you  see.  When 
you  got  your  cargo  ashore,  fair  an'  easy,  an' 
everything  seemed  going  right,  you  got  a  bit  less 
264 


GREEN    GINGER 


careful.  An'  so  long  as  the  preventive  men  kep' 
the  carriers  in  sight,  wherever  they  might  be,  the 
tubs  must  come  to  'em,  sooner  or  later.  But 
then  information's  a  thing  as  can  travel  both 
ways,  as  you  may  ha'  noticed.  I've  told  you  the 
story  o'  the  two  Drakes,  Eli  an'  Robm,  an'  the 
Black  Badger,  and  you'll  remember  that  one  o' 
them  brothers  was  a  preventive  man  an'  the 
other  a  smuggler,  an'  the  arrangement  worked 
very  well  for  both  of  'em.  That  was  twenty 
years  before  the  time  I'm  talkin'  of  now,  an' 
George  Fourth  were  King;  but  there  was  still  a 
bit  o'  the  same  sort  o'  thing  goin' ;  an'  if  there 
wasn't  brothers  on  the  two  sides  there  was  one  or 
two  o'  the  coastguard  as  were  pretty  good  friends 
with  the  smugglers.  So,  as  I  was  sayin',  in- 
formation bein'  a  thing  as  can  travel  both  ways, 
oad  Tom  Blyth  an'  the  rest  of  'em  wasn't  far 
behind  Master  Archie  Wicks  moves,  however  he 
made  'em. 

"Now  when  this  little  cargo  was  comin'  in. 
Wicks  was  all  on  the  look-out  for  the  tub- 
carriers,  but  oad  Tom  was  up  sides  with  him 
from  the  beginnin'.  The  word  was  passed  for 
carriers  to  meet  at  Pest'us  corner  after  dark, 
an'  there  they  did.  An'  there,  sure  enough  was 
Mr.  Archie  Wicks,  an'  one  or  two  of  his  men, 
lyin'  low  an'  watchin',  ready  to  follow  wherever 
the  carriers  might  go.  Sure  enough  they  did 
follow,  an'  the  carriers,  marchin'  fair  an'  open 

265 


GREEN    GINGER 


along  the  main  road,  led  'em  all  the  way  to 
Prittywell,  to  the  Spread  Eagle,  an'  there  they 
went  in,  the  whole  gang  of  'em,  an'  into  the 
clubroom.  So  Master  Wicks,  feelin'  smarter 
every  minute,  sends  off  a  man  as  hard  as  he 
could  go  to  rouse  up  the  chief-ofHcer  and  bring 
in  the  patrols  from  all  along  Leigh  an'  Bemfleet. 
An'  there  he  sat  in  hidin'  an'  waited,  for  he 
guessed  the  run  would  be  tried  near  by,  an'  the 
carriers  was  just  lyin'  up  in  the  Spread  Eagle, 
till  they  was  signalled  for.  An'  while  Mr,  Wicks 
waited  up  by  the  Spread  Eagle,  the  chief-officer 
and  all  the  patrols  waited  down  on  Sou'church 
beach,  to  be  handy  as  soon  as  the  carriers  made 
a  move. 

"An'  that  was  all  that  happened.  All  that 
happened.  For  the  carriers  they  just  sat  down 
an'  had  a  sing-song,  an'  called  for  what  they 
pleased!" 

"And  then  went  home?" 

"Ay,  they  scattered  all  out  an'  went  home 
when  the  house  closed  at  last.  You  can't  follow 
forty  men  goin'  forty  different  ways  home  to 
forty  different  places!  An'  not  much  good  if 
you  could.  Golden  Adams,  that  had  charge  o' 
the  gang,  and  was  chairman  o'  the  sing-song, 
he  come  out  first,  an'  called  on  Mr,  Archie 
Wicks  for  a  song — out  In  the  road,  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  So  Mr.  Wicks,  a-lyin'  there  hidin' 
behind  the  ledge,  tumbled  to  the  swindle  and 

266 


GREEN    GINGER 


sneaked  off  quiet  enough,  to  make  the  best  tale 
he  could  to  the  chief-officer.  He  guessed  then, 
did  Mr.  Wicks,  an'  guessed  right,  that  the 
carriers  hadn't  been  wanted  that  night  to  carry 
off  tubs  at  all,  but  just  to  carry  off  him  an' 
the  rest  o'  the  coastguard  to  a  place  where  they 
couldn't  do  no  harm,  while  the  cargo  came 
ashore  safe  an'  easy  somewhere  else.  So  the  fust 
round  of  the  fight  was  all  agin  Mr.  Archie 
Wicks.  The  carriers,  they  spent  a  jolly  evening, 
and  Tom  Blyth  an'  his  boat's  crew,  they  got 
their  cargo  in  quiet  and  secret,  and  everybody 
was  pleased  except  Mr.  Archie  Wicks  an'  the 
chief-officer,  who  hadn't  been  kep'  out  o'  bed  so 
late  for  years. 

"But  Mr.  Wicks  wasn't  done  for  yet.  Not 
he.  He  knowed  well  enough  the  cargo  had 
been  landed  safe,  an'  put  somewhere.  Conse- 
kence  it  were  his  business  to  find  it.  It  were 
plain  it  couldn't  ha'  gone  far,  the  carriers  not 
havin'  touched  it,  an'  so  he  starts  out  to  look  for 
it  In  the  neighborhood. 

"I  told  you  oad  Tom  Blyth  had  a  darter. 
Nell  were  her  name,  an'  a  very  takin'  sort  o' 
gal  she  were  to  look  at  at  that  time.  Different 
young  chaps  went  a-courtin'  to  Nell  Blyth  at 
different  times,  but  just  then  'twere  Joe  Furber 
— a  bit  of  a  smuggler  hisself,  though  a  boat- 
builder  In  the  main.  Mr.  Archie  Wicks,  so 
smart  and  knowin'  among  the  gals  as  he  were, 

267 


GREEN    GINGER 


was  alius  ready  to  pass  the  time  o'  day  to  Nell 
Blyth;  and  so,  the  next  mornin'  after  the  sing- 
song at  Prittywell,  up  goes  Mr.  Wicks,  all  so 
brave  and  gay  in  the  Queen's  uniform,  to  oad 
Tom  Blyth's  to  fascinate  his  darter  Nell.  He'd 
took  care  to  see  oad  Tom  safe  down  at  the 
Smack  Inn  first;  and  up  went  he,  sure  o'  findin' 
Nell  alone. 

"Nell  weren't  exactly  alone,  for  Joe  Furber 
were  there,  talking  with  Nell  over  the  fence. 
But  Mr.  Archie  Wicks  were  that  clever  an'  free 
with  his  chaff  he  soon  had  poor  young  Joe 
dunted  an'  marthered  altogether,  an'  sneakin'  off 
alone,  sulky  an'  beat  out.  An'  then  he  turned 
on  his  most  gallivashlous  gammick  to  young 
Nell,  an'  presently  they  were  whisperin'  an' 
laughin'  together  that  thick  you'd  never  guess 
there  were  such  a  party  as  poor  young  Joe 
Furber  alive. 

"  'Ah,  well,'  says  Wicks,  arter  a  bit,  'I'm 
off  duty  now  an'  when  I'm  off  duty  I  can  shut 
my  eyes  as  well  as  another.  Eh?  You  know!' 
An'  he  winks  most  engagin'.  'I  can  shut  my 
eyes  to  some  things  when  I  ain't  on  duty,  my 
dear,  though  not  to  a  pretty  face  like  yourn. 
Why,  I  was  up  at — well,  never  mind  where, 
though  I  near  let  it  out — I  was  up  at  a  place 
the  other  day  where  they  mixed  me  as  stiff  a 
noggin  o'  moonshine — ay,  straight  out  o'  the 
tub,  too — as  ever  I  hope  to  taste.     Prime  stuff 

268 


GREEN    GINGER 


it  were;  but  bein'  all  in  the  way  o'  friendship, 
d'ye  think  I  den't  shut  one  eye?  Eh?  Ay,  an' 
both  on  'em !  But  I  opened  my  mouth — an' 
mighty  glad  to  open  it  again  for  liquor  half 
as  good,  too !     If  there  was  anybody  to  try  me.' 

"  'An'  could  you  take  a  drop  now?'  says 
Nell,  pleased  as  Punch  with  her  new  beau. 
'Could  you?  S'pose  a  friend  were  to  offer  it, 
quiet?' 

"'Could  I?'  says  Archie  Wicks,  pleased  as 
she  was,  though  for  another  reason.  'Could  I?' 
says  he.  'Just  you  try  me,  my  dear !  Lord 
bless  ye,  I  know  well  enough  your  dear  old  dad 
can  give  a  friend  a  drop  o'  the  proper  stuff, 
or  you  for  him!  An'  if  I  can't  shut  my  eyes 
with  such  a  nice  gal  as  you  about — well,  I  count 
I  know  which  way  to  turn  'em,  as  a  friend!' 

"Well,  young  Nell  Blyth,  bright  an'  gigglin', 
she  took  him  into  the  keepin'  room,  an'  she  pulls 
out  a  big  chest  from  the  wall,  an'  slides  the 
wainscot  behind  it.  An'  sure  enough  Mr.  Archie 
Wicks  did  know  which  way  to  turn  his  eyes,  an' 
there  to  see,  behind  the  wainscot,  rows  an'  rows 
o'  new  tubs — all  packed  snug  as  cockles  behind 
the  wall  an'  under  the  floor !  This  was  what 
he'd  come  for,  an'  so  mighty  delighted  was  he 
to  see  it  that  it  was  hard  work  to  stop  an'  take 
his  drink.  He  did  stop  an'  take  it  though.  Nell 
Blyth  pulled  a  plug  from  the  nearest  tub  an' 
squibbed  out   a   dram   of — well,   of  that  stuff 

269 


GREEN    GINGER 


you've  been  tryin'  yourself,  but  forty  year 
younger.  An'  Archie  Wicks,  when  he'd  a-wa- 
tered  it,  he  drinks  most  galliant  to  the  prettiest 
gal  in  Essex,  otherwise  called  Nell  Blyth,  an' 
carried  it  all  off  first  rate,  notwithstandin'  he  was 
longin'  to  run  an'  make  the  seizure.  He  did 
more  than  that,  too.  It  struck  him  he'd  like  to 
take  prisoners  as  well  as  goods,  an'  philanderin' 
about  to  know  when  he  were  to  see  Nell  next,  she 
let  slip  that  her  father  was  expectin'  some  friends 
after  dark  that  same  ev^enin'  an'  that  she  would 
be  goin'  out. 

"  'Ah !'  says  Wicks,  more  satisfied  with 
himself  than  he'd  ever  been  before  in  his  life, 
'then  we  must  put  it  off,  my  dear.  I  shall  be 
on  duty  to-night !'  An'  that  was  about  all 
the  truth  he'd  spoken  since  breakfast. 

"He  pretty  well  guessed  what  the  evenin' 
meetin'  meant,  with  the  gal  sent  out  o'  the  way, 
an'  he  made  up  his  mind  to  wait  an'  have  men 
and  tubs  together.    An'  so  he  did. 

"He  promised  the  chief-officer  a  real  catch 
this  night,  an'  they  fetched  patrols  an'  boatmen 
in,  very  quiet,  from  all  ways  alongshore.  They 
crep'  up  the  hill  by  different  ways  an'  lay  down 
snug  all  round  the  house,  waitin'.  An'  then 
Mr.  Archie  Wicks,  bein'  the  smart  man  o'  the 
gang,  he  crarled  round  by  the  yard  to  where  he 
could  peep  in  at  the  keepin'-room  winder,  where 
the  light  were. 

270 


GREEN    GINGER 


"  'Twere  all  in  good  train,  as  he  could  see. 
There  were  oad  Tom  Blyth  sittin'  there  with 
Martin  Cox — a  man  Mr.  Wicks  wanted  near 
as  much  as  oad  Tom  hisself.  They  was  a-sittin' 
by  the  table,  with  glasses,  grinnin'  an'  chucklin' 
and  talkin',  and  there  were  a  tub,  shameless  an' 
open,  on  the  table  before  'em,  with  a  turnpipe 
an'  spigot  in  it.  As  he  were  peepin'  there 
came  somebody  along  the  lane,  an'  presently 
up  got  oad  Tom  an'  let  in  Jeff  Cater  by  the 
front  door. 

"Jeff  sat  down,  an'  oad  Tom  gets  another 
glass  for  him  an'  fills  it  at  the  tub,  with  his 
back  to  Jeff  as  he  did  it.  Wicks  guessed  he 
were  after  givin'  him  the  drink  neat,  to  make 
him  cough,  an'  so  'twould  seem.  The  stuff  was 
about  a  hundred  over  proof,  so  you  may  guess 
what  it  'ud  be  like  without  any  water.  Jeff  took 
a  gulp.  Innocent  enough,  an  then  began  to  cough 
an'  spit  into  the  fire,  while  the  others  sat  an' 
laughed  at  him. 

"Then  oad  Tom  let  in  Sim  Bartrip,  an' 
they  played  the  same  game  on  him.  Sim  nearly 
coughed  hisself  black  in  the  face,  though  if 
you'd  ha'  knowed  Sim  an'  his  habits  you'd  ha' 
backed  him  to  swallow  it  bilin'. 

"Then    in    comes    Rob    Sturt,    an'    they   put 

the  joke  on  him.     Well,  to  make  it  short,  half 

a  dozen  o'  Tom's  friends  came  in,  countin'  all, 

an'  each  one  was  made  to  cough  most  outrageous, 

271 


GREEN    GINGER 


while  all  the  others  as  had  been  had  In  their 
turns  sat  an'  enjoyed  the  fun. 

"Mr.  Archie  Wicks  counted  he'd  seen  enough, 
so  he  crep'  back  to  the  chief-officer  an'  reported. 
They  waited  a  bit  longer,  but  no  more  o'  Tom 
Blyth's  friends  showed  up,  an'  'twere  gettin'  late. 
So  the  chief-officer  wouldn't  wait  no  longer 
thinkin'  seven  smugglers  an  'a  full  cargo  o'  tubs 
prize  enough.  So  he  brings  up  his  men  close 
round  the  house,  an'  he  an'  Wicks  goes  and 
bangs  hard  at  at  the  front  door. 

"Oad  Tom  comes  to  the  door  with  a  candle. 
*Good-evenin','  says  oad  Tom. 

"  'Good-evenin',"  says  Wicks,  shovin'  his 
back  agin  the  door  while  the  chief-officer  stepped 
in.  'We've  just  come  on  a  little  perfessional 
wisit,  Mr.  Blyth,  an'  it  won't  be  any  good  you 
jumpin'  through  the  winders  or  what  not,  'cos 
the  house  is  surrounded.' 

"  'AH  right,'  says  oad  Tom,  'what  should  I 
want  to  jump  through  winders  for?' 

"  'What  for?'  says  Wicks,  shovin'  oad  Tom 
before  him  into  the  keepin'-room.  'What  for? 
Why,  what  d'ye  call  this  here  little  party?' 
The  tub  was  gone  from  the  table,  but  that  was 
what  he  expected.  'What  d'ye  call  this  here 
little  party?'  says  Wicks. 

"  'This  here's  a  teetotal  meetin','  says  oad 
Tom. 

"  'Ah !    so  I  should  ha'  guessed,'  says  Wicks. 

272. 


GREEN    GINGER 


'Here,   Wllkins!'   he   sings   out,    'you    an'    two 
more  o'  you  come  an'  pull  out  this  chest.' 

"  'What  d'ye  want  to  come  a-movin'  my 
furnitude  about  for?'  says  oad  Tom  Blyth, 
makin'  to  putt  a  bold  face  on  it.  'There  ain't 
nothen'  o'  yourn  there !  No,  nor  nothin'  agin 
the  law,  nayther !' 

"  'Lucky  for  you  if  there  ain't,'  says  Wicks. 
An'  with  that  he  pulls  back  the  wainscot,  an' 
there  lay  the  tubs  all  in  rows,  snug  as  peas  in  a 
pod,  just  as  he'd  seen  in  the  mornin'. 

"  'All  right,'  says  oad  Tom,  seein'  there  was 
no  more  to  be  said.  'All  right,'  says  he,  "I'll 
go  quiet.     But  you  don't  want  my  friends.' 

"'Ha,  ha!  But  we  can't  spare  'em  yet!' 
says  Wicks;  for  there  wasn't  a  man  of  'em  that 
Wicks  hadn't  had  his  eye  on  for  months.  'We'll 
adjourn  this  here  teetotal  meeting  solid  as  it 
stands.  Come  along  1  One  at  a  time,  please — 
whistle  the  rest  in,  Wilkins !' 

"An'  so  there  went  down  the  hill  such  a 
procession  as  ain't  been  seen  since.  There  was 
the  seven  prisoners  an'  the  tubs,  an'  all  Leigh 
out  in  their  night-rig  to  see  the  show.  Master 
Archie  Wicks  was  prancin'  on  the  wind,  like 
a  promoted  peacock  in  full  flight,  an'  he 
pitched  off  the  gammick  of  the  teetotal  meetin' 
left  and  right.  In  them  days  teetotal  meetin's 
were  things  you  only  read  about  in  the  papers, 
up  in  Lancashire  an'  thereaway,  an'  the  joke  of 

273 


GREEN    GINGER 


a  teetotal  meetin'  of  oad  smugglers  here  In 
Essex,  sittin'  round  a  cargo  o'  tubs,  went  through 
Leigh  like  fireworks. 

"When  they  was  all  safe  In  the  Custom-'us 
at  last,  oad  Tom  Blyth  ups  and  says:  'Well 
now,  Mr.  Wicks,  you  an'  your  men  had  better 
set  about  broachin'  your  'lowance  tub,  for  how- 
ever it  goes  I  admit  you've  earned  It !' 

"In  them  days  you  see,  when  there  was  a 
seizure,  one  tub  went  to  the  men  as  a  sort  o' 
perquisite.  I  doubt  it  wouldn't  be  allowed  now, 
but  then  'twere  quite  the  reg'lar  thing.  So  Mr. 
Wicks,  ready  enough,  rememberin'  his  mornin' 
dram,  sticks  a  gimlet  into  the  first  tub  that  comes, 
and  fills  pannikins  right  an'  left.  But  he  never 
emptied  that  tub.  Afore  he'd  gone  down  a 
dozen  pannikins  there  was  some  of  his  men 
a-coughin'  an'  a-spittin  as  fast  as  any  o'  the 
smugglers  up  at  Blyth's.  'Why,  choke  me 
blind!'  roars  the  one  as  got  his  tongue  first;  'It's 
WATER  !' 

"An'  that  was  just  what  It  was — water,  every 
tub  of  it!  They  had  been  full  o'  white  brandy 
once,  but  there  were  plugged-up  gimlet  holes 
In  every  tub,  an'  nothin'  but  water  inside  'em  ! 

"  'Why,'  said  oad  Tom  Blyth,  lookin'  sur- 
prised, 'o'  course,  it's  water.  What  did  I  tell 
ye?    Den't  I  say  It  was  a  teetotal  meetin'?' 

"  'Course  he  did'  sings  out  the  other  smug- 
glers.    'An'  you've  been  a-callin'  it  a  teetotal 

274 


GREEN    GINGER 


meetin'  yourself,  at  the  top  of  your  voice,  all 
through  Leigh  town!  What  did  ye  expect  to 
find  if  'tweren't  water,  eh?' 

"  'I  dunno  why  me  an'  my  friends  hev  been 
brought  down  here  in  this  ill-conwenient  way,' 
says  oad  Tom  very  solemn,  'but  I  do  know  as 
I  insist  on  these  here  tubs  o'  water  bein'  carried 
back  to  where  they  kim  from !' 

"Well,  well;  I've  seen  a  number  o'  fanteegs 
round  these  parts  in  my  time,  but  in  all  ninety 
year  I  never  heard  such  a  dovercourt  as  there 
were  over  that  teetotal  meetin'.  Wicks  was  glad 
to  get  a  shove  on  to  another  station.  Of  course, 
you  may  guess  the  time  hadn't  been  wasted 
while  that  teetotal  meetin'  was  on,  an'  while  all 
the  preventive  men  for  miles  round  were  at- 
tendin'  to  it.  The  carriers  had  taken  their 
evenin'  off  the  night  before,  but  this  night  it  was 
their  turn  to  work.  Golden  Adams  captained 
'em  again,  an'  they  whipped  off  the  real  tubs 
from  wherever  they  were  hid  while  the  teetotal 
meetin'  were  in  full  blast.  Two  nights  runnin' 
oad  Tom  Blyth  had  got  all  the  coastguards  in  a 
crowd  together  just  where  it  suited  him  best,  an' 
finished  up  by  makin'  'em  the  joke  of  half 
Essex." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "that  something 
depended  on  Nell  Blyth,  too." 

"Nell  Blyth,"  said  Roboshobery,  "were  an 
obedient  gal,  an'  more  to  it,  she  did  what  she 

275 


GREEN    GINGER 


were  told  with  a  proper  gumption.  You  know 
her." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  I  count  you  do.  She  went  past  this 
here  winder  while  I  was  talkin'." 

"What,  old  Mrs.  Furber?" 

"What  you'd  call  old,  sir,  no  doubt,  though 
she  might  be  my  darter.  Joe  Furber  died  ten 
year  back." 


276 


THE  DRINKWATER 
ROMANCE 


R.  REGINALD  DRINKWATER  had 

rooms  in  the  Temple.  That  was  almost 
all  of  importance  that  could  be  said 
about  Mr.  Reginald  Drinkwater,  whose  life  had 
been  wholly  uneventful  for  the  twenty-four 
years  of  it  that  had  passed  before  he  encountered 
this,  his  first  adventure  of  a  romantic  com- 
plexion. 

Mr.  Drinkwater  had  not  been  called  to  the 
ba» — he  had  not  even  begun  to  read  with  that 
purpose;  but  he  was  here,  at  the  Temple,  quite 
convenient  if  ever  he  should  definitely  decide  to 
take  that  step.  In  fact,  he  had  literary  leanings, 
and  had  long  reasoned  with  himself  that,  if  he 
should  actually  embrace  the  profession  of  letters, 
any  time  spent  in  preparing  for  the  law  would  be 
wasted,  and  waste  of  time  was  a  vice  against 
which  a  literary  man  should  guard  himself  with 
especial  care. 

He  had  not  actually  produced  any  literary 
work,  for  that,  as  everybody  knows,  is  not  a 
:2  77 


GREEN    GINGER 


thing  to  be  rushed  at.  But  he  had  taken  the 
chambers  once  occupied  by  a  novelist  of  great 
reputation,  and  had  laid  in  a  large  stock  of 
manuscript  paper  of  the  sort  said  to  be  used  by 
Mr.  Thomas  Hardy,  and  a  fountain  pen  having 
a  testimonial  from  Mr.  Hall  Caine ;  so  that  there 
remained  no  obstacle  to  success,  in  case  his  final 
decision  should  set  him  in  the  direction  of  his 
inclinations.  Meantime,  he  received  from  his 
mother  in  Bedfordshire  a  regular  allowance 
which  was  quite  sufficient  for  his  quiet  require- 
ments, and  he  wisely  reflected  that  so  long  as 
one  refrained  from  committing  oneself  irrevo- 
cably to  one  or  other  profession  one  avoided 
the  possibility  of  an  error  which  might 
cause  serious  regret  throughout  the  rest  of  one's 
career. 

Mr.  Drinkwater's  rooms  had  the  advantage  of 
a  situation  from  which  one  looked  into  the  win- 
dows, a  few  yards  away,  of  the  chambers  of  the 
great  Buss,  K.C.  The  two  sets  of  rooms,  In  fact, 
adjoined  at  the  back  of  next-door  houses  set  at 
an  angle,  so  that  Reginald  Drinkwater,  were  It 
not  for  the  general  decorum  of  his  behavior  and 
his  particular  reverence  for  his  distinguished 
neighbor,  might  have  peashot  Buss,  K.C,  at 
short  range,  when  the  windows  were  a  little 
open.  Also,  if  Buss,  K.C,  had  not  been  a  very 
fat,  stumpy  little  man,  with  very  short  arms,  and 
If  he  and  Reginald  Drinkwater  had  been  ac- 

278 


GREEN    GINGER 


qualnted,  they  might  have  shaken  hands  across 
the  sills  of  the  two  windows  closest  to  the  angle 
over  the  little  yard  below.  This,  indeed,  was  a 
neighborly  courtesy  of  which  Reginald  had 
dreamed  as  a  possibility  In  his  future  times  of 
eminence.  Meanwhile,  what  with  the  proximity 
of  Buss,  K.C.,  and  the  literary  associations  of  his 
own  rooms,  he  felt  himself  rather  eminent  than 
otherwise,  already. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  would  say  on  the  infrequent 
occasion  of  a  friend's  visit;  "they  are  old  Buss's 
rooms.  Fine  collection  of  old  silver  he's  got 
there,  too."  Which  looked  almost  as  though 
Reginald  were  a  familiar  visitor  of  Buss,  K.C.; 
though,  In  fact,  he  only  knew  of  the  fine  old 
silver,  as  others  did,  by  report,  and  from  the 
newspaper  accounts  of  auction  sales  at  which  the 
great  Buss  was  a  buyer. 

When  Mr.  Reginald  Drinkwater's  inactivity 
had  so  endured  for  a  good  while  he  conceived  a 
grievance  against  his  very  comfortable  circum- 
stances. In  that  his  life  had  been  wholly  empty  of 
adventure.  This,  he  told  himself,  was  the  reason 
that  he  had  not  as  yet  launched  on  a  brilliant 
literary  career;  for  he  had  heard  on  high  author- 
ity that  one  could  only  write  In  the  light  of  one's 
own  actual  experience.  So  he  took  to  seeking 
adventure  In  the  streets  of  London,  where,  he 
believed,  from  the  teaching  of  many  magazine 
stories,  it  was  very  readily  encountered.    But  his 

279 


GREEN    GINGER 


luck  was  out,  for  after  many  attempts  he  was 
rewarded  with  nothing  better  than  the  purchase 
of  a  dummy  pawn-ticket  from  a  plausible  young 
man  in  Fetter  Lane.  It  is  possible  that  a 
naturally  retiring  disposition  hindered  Regi- 
nald's ambitions,  since,  after  all,  London  is  a 
strange  and  adventurous  place  enough,  as  he  was 
at  length  convinced.  For  indeed  his  romance 
came  at  last. 

He  had  left  his  rooms  one  February  after- 
noon, with  the  simple  design  of  buying  tobacco 
at  a  shop  in  Fleet  Street;  and  because  it  was  to 
be  so  short  an  expedition  he  had  merely  locked 
his  inner  door  and  left  his  "oak"  swung  open. 
The  "oak"  and  the  inner  door,  it  may  be  ex- 
plained parenthetically,  stood,  as  is  usual,  scarce 
two  feet  apart,  and  the  former,  a  ponderous 
iron-strapped  fabric,  was  only  locked  when  the 
inmate  was  away  from  home,  or,  being  in,  de- 
sired no  visitors. 

Reginald  Drinkwater  bought  the  tobacco  he 
required,  and  strolled  easily  back  up  Fleet  Street 
with  his  purchase  in  his  pocket  and  his  ignoble 
condition  in  his  mind.  Here  he  walked,  in  the 
midst  of  six  million  romances — for  he  had  read, 
and  therefore  believed,  that  every  life  held  its 
own — and  not  only  had  he  found  no  romance 
himself,  but  he  could  guess  at  none  of  those 
about  him.  So  Reginald  walked,  puzzled  and 
ill-content,  unaware  that  his  romance  waited  for 

280 


GREEN    GINGER 


him  a   hundred  strides  away,   and  was  nearer 
with  every  step. 

He  turned  in  at  the  Temple  Gate  and  twisted 
left  and  right  through  the  passages  leading  to  his 
quarters,  musing  gloomily;  and  so  he  ascended 
the  stairs,  and  reached  his  landing  to  perceive 
that  his  "oak"  was  standing  much  closer  than  he 
had  left  it.  He  swung  it  back,  and  stood 
amazed.     For  here  was  his  romance. 

Crouching  between  the  "oak"  and  the  inner 
door,  shrinking  into  the  angle  farthest  from  him, 
her  lips  parted  and  hisr  eyes  full  of  fear,  was  the 
most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen  or  ever 
wished  to  see. 

Her  heavy  veil  was  flung  back  from  her  now 
pale  face,  her  eyes  were  black  and  large  and 
appealing,  and  her  skin,  brilliantly  clear,  had  the 
tone  of  ivory. 

"You  will  not  hurt  rtie?"  she  pleaded.  "You 
are  not  an  enemy?" 

Reginald,  confounded  by  the  vision  before 
him,  and  too  anxious  to  remove  such  an  impres- 
sion to  be  wholly  coherent,  stammered  fervent 
denials.  Except  for  the  lady's  own  obvious 
terror  he  would  have  been  a  little  frightened 
himself,  for  he  was  young  and  susceptible,  and 
prone  to  nervousness  in  female  society. 

"I  am  much  afraid,"  she  said.  "I  am  pursued. 
You  are  not  angry  that  I  should  hide  in  your 
doorway?" 

281 


GREEN    GINGER 


He  protested,  still  with  some  confusion,  that 
nothing  was  so  far  from  his  thoughts;  and  was 
adding  that,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  ready  and 
anxious  to  do  anything  on  earth  to  save  her, 
when  she  checked  him  with  raised  forefinger, 
and  a  head  turned  to  listen. 

"Was  not  that  a  step?"  she  said.  "Is  there 
nobody  else  on  the  stairs?" 

They  listened  together,  but  there  was  no 
sound. 

"They  are  waiting,  then,"  she  said,  "and 
watching  to  me — ^watching  for  me  at  the  outside. 
Can  I  not  go  by  another  door?" 

There  was  no  other  door,  he  explained,  and 
indeed  there  was  no  need  for  such  an  exit.  If 
she  would  place  herself  under  his  protection  he 
would  be  happy  to  see  her  safely 

"No,  no!"  she  interrupted;  "you  do  not 
understand  how  bad  it  is.  I  should  be  followed 
— they  would  kill  me  somewhere  else — and  my 
brother,  my  dear  brother !  I  must  wait  a  little 
while.  I  think  they  do  not  know  it  is  in  this 
house  I  have  come.  You  will  be  kind,  sir,  will 
you  not?  I  have  not  one  friend;  and  if  you  will 
let  me  stay  in  your  room  a  little  while,  till  it 
comes  dark,  I  can  escape,  I  think.  You  are  very 
kind — will  you  let  me  stay  a  little  while?" 

It  might  seem  an  odd  request  in  ordinary; 
but  the  circumstances  were  far  from  ordinary 
now.    To  Reginald,  who  had  met  his  adventure 

282 


GREEN    GINGER 


at  last,  they  were  stunning,  bewildering.  Could 
he  possibly  drive  away  a  friendless  girl — to  meet 
the  strange  perils  she  feared,  alone?  Was  he 
not  rather  conscious  of  a  secret  joy  that  the 
danger,  whatever  it  was  had  driven  her  to  his 
protecting  arm?  He  turned  the  key  in  the  inner 
door,  and  thrust  it  open. 

"Oh,  you  are  very  kind,  sir — so  very  kind," 
the  stranger  repeated  as  she  entered;  and  it  was 
only  now  that  Reginald  noticed  that  she  said 
"vehry"  and  that  her  whole  accent  and  manner 
were  a  little  foreign.  "You  have  saved  me,"  she 
continued,  still  much  agitated;  "and  my  brother 
— especially  you  have  saved  my  dear  brother!" 

"Your  brother?"  repeated  Reginald,  with  a 
doubtful  look  about  the  staircase  as  he  closed  the 
door.     "Your  brother?" 

"Yes — my  dear  brother.  He  is  not  here — he 
is  hiding.  That  Is  why  I  am  so  afraid  to  be 
followed,  for  then  they  will  find  him.  Oh,  the 
wicked  men!     They  are  so  very  cruel!" 

The  beautiful  girl  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Reginald,  his  whole  soul 
filled  with  indignation  that  the  world  could  hold 
creatures  so  base  as  to  put  her  to  such  distress, 
was  tortured  with  helplessness.  If  only  he  could 
do  something — if  only  the  unknown  enemy 
stood  tangibly  before  him. 

Presently  she  looked  up  and  spoke  again. 
"Pardon  me,"  she  said;  "I  am  very  weak  when  I 

283 


GREEN    GINGER 


should  be  very  strong.  You  are  a  kind  friend, 
but  I  should  not  trouble  you  with  these  things. 
Perhaps  I  can  go  away.  Can  they  see  these 
windows  from  the  street?" 

Reginald  hastened  to  reassure  her.  The  win- 
dows overlooked  nothing  but  a  private  yard, 
to  which  there  was  no  access  from  any  public 
place. 

"You  are  really  quite  safe,"  he  protested. 
"And  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do — anything  in 
the  world — if  I  am  not  intruding  on  private 
affairs,  and  you  will  tell  me " 

But  her  attention  was  fixed  on  the  windows. 
"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "I  could  go  that  way,  if 
the  other  houses  have  doors  in  other  streets. 
There  is  no  other  door  here,  you  say,  but  the 
windows  would  not  be  so  difficult — to  go  out  by 
that  house." 

She  nodded  toward  Mr.  Buss's  rooms.  But, 
as  Reginald  explained,  Mr.  Buss  was  away, 
taking  a  fortnight  on  the  Riviera,  and  the  door 
of  his  chambers  would  be  locked.  At  the  same 
time  it  gave  him  a  further  sense  of  the  desperate 
situation  of  this  delicate  girl,  that  she  should 
for  a  moment  contemplate  an  escape  by  the 
expedient  of  scrambling  from  one  window  to 
another  across  an  angle  of  wall  thirty  feet  above 
the  yard.     Fie  strove  again  to  reassure  her. 

"That  way  is  not  possible,"  he  said;  "but 
you  are  really  quite  safe.     Perhaps  you  have 

284 


GREEN    GINGER 


come  from  a  country  where  the  police  are  not — " 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"From  another  country?"  she  said.  "You 
know  I  am  not  English?  And  they  say  my 
English  is  so  good !  How  quick  and  clever 
you  are!" 

Never  had  flattery  sounded  so  sweet  in  Regi- 
nald's ears.  Indeed  flattery  was  a  thing  to  them 
singularly  unfamiliar,  so  small  was  his  acquain- 
tance with  the  world. 

"Your  English,"  he  replied,  "is  splendid — 
beautiful !  But  I  thought — I  supposed — some- 
thing suggested  that  you  were  a  foreigner,  and 
I  wish  to  tell  you  that  our  London  police " 

"Yes,  I  know — they  are  excellent,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "Better,  I  hope,  at  least  than  those 
of  my  poor  country,  where  they  have  allowed 
a  terrible  crime — a  horrible  crime — that  has 
made  the  whole  world  shudder !" 

Reginald  thought  instantly  of  Portugal  and 
the  murder  of  the  king  and  his  son;  for  the 
newspapers  had  been  clamorous  with  the  crime 
for  a  week  past.  "Do  you  speak  Portugal?" 
he  asked  tentatively. 

"Ah,  indeed !"  she  replied  with  a  melancholy 
smile.  "My  poor  country !  It  is  wonderful  that 
you  should  judge  so  well;  it  is  good  for  me 
that  you  are  my  friend,  and  not  my  enemy !  Do 
you  guess  also  what  is  my  trouble?  Shall  I  tell 
you?" 


285 


GREEN    GINGER 


There  was  nothing  In  the  world  that  could 
interest  Reginald  Drinkwater  half  so  much,  and 
he  said  so,  In  something  very  near  those  terms. 
"Unless,"  he  added,  "you  would  rather — rather 
not  tell  me." 

"If  it  does  not  trouble  you — 'bore'  you,  is 
it  not? — I  would  much  like  to  tell  you,"  she 
said.  "It  Is  so  good  to  trust  to  a  good  friend; 
and  when  you  have  been  so  kind  to  shelter  me 
from  my  enemies  it  is  only  right  that  I  should 
tell  you  why  I  have  asked  your  help.  There  has 
been  great  trouble  In  my  country,  and  my  dear 
brother  Luiz  and  I  have  escaped  to  England. 
iYou  have  heard  of  the  trouble?" 

"Oh,  yes — of  course.  The  late  dictator  also 
has  left  Portugal,  I  believe.  You  are  not  related 
to  him?" 

"To  him?  To  the  oppressor?  To  the  man 
who  has  caused  everything?  Never — that  is  not 
one  of  our  misfortunes,  I  thank  heaven.  My 
dear  brother  was  of  the  opposite  party — ^the 
republicans." 

"I  see;  and  was  Implicated,  I  suppose,  in 
the— the " 

"Do  you  mean  In  the  horrible  crime — the 
assassination  of  the  poor  king  and  the  prince? 
Ah,  never!  You  could  never  suppose  it  If  you 
knew  my  brother  Luiz — never !  We  are  of  good 
family,  and  my  brother  could  have  no  part  in 
such  doings.    That  is  why  we  are  here,  and  In 

286 


GREEN    GINGER 


such  trouble.  There  were  bad  men  in  the  re- 
publican party  as  well  as  good;  indeed  the  bad 
men  gained  a  great  ascendency,  and  it  is  by  them 
that  the  king  was  assassinated.  My  brother 
opposed  them  in  the  party  and  they  became  his 
enemies.  Because  of  that  they  nominated  him 
to  join  with  the  others  in  the  crime;  he  was  to 
prove  his  constancy,  they  said.  But  instead  he 
gave  a  warning,  so  that  the  assassins  were 
obliged  to  change  their  plans.  Have  you  read 
of  it  in  the  journals?  You  will  see  that  they 
killed  the  poor  king  and  the  prince  in  the  street, 
near  the  public  offices.  At  first  it  was  to  be  on 
the  quay,  when  they  landed;  but  of  that  my 
brother  gave  secret  warning,  and  on  the  quay 
they  were  very  carefully  guarded.  Why  did 
they  not  guard  them  as  carefully  for  the  rest  of 
the  journey?  I  cannot  say;  but  the  thing  hap- 
pened, as  now  you  know,  and  my  brother  and  I 
fled  to  England  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  the 
republican  committee,  who  knew  of  the  warning 
he  had  sent,  and  who  were  angry  that  the  queen 
and  the  other  prince  had  not  been  killed  too. 
You  may  read  the  journals,  but  you  do  not  know 
what  terrible  things  are  going  on  in  Lisbon,  even 
now!" 

"But  surely  you  are  safe  here!" 

"On  the  contrary,  our  enemies  followed  us 
by  a  ship  that  left  the  day  after  our  own.  We 
have  changed  our  lodgings  twice,  but  to-day  I 

287 


GREEN    GINGER 


have  been  followed  by  two  men — men  that  I 
have  seen  in  Lisbon.  I  was  terrified,  and  could 
not  guess  what  to  do.  I  came  into  the  gardens 
here  from  the  street,  and  walked  about  in  the 
narrow  courtyards,  but  they  still  followed.  I 
think  I  must  have  escaped  them  for  a  moment 
when  I  turned  into  this  court;  but  I  found  that 
there  was  no  way  out,  so  I  ran  up  these  stairs; 
and  when  I  heard  you  coming,  I  feared  they 
must  have  seen  me  enter  and  were  still  pursuing 
me.  I  did  not  suppose  it  would  be  a  friend — 
such  a  kind  friend;  if  you  will  not  be  angry  that 
I  call  you  my  friend?" 

To  this,  Reginald  Drinkwater,  flushing  with 
delight  and  stammering  with  confusion,  made 
a  wild  and  random  answer.  "It  is  delightful 
to  hear  you  say  it,"  he  said,  continuing,  "and 
I  wish  I  could  do  more — much  more — anything 
— to  make  you  say  it  again.  Surely  I  can  help 
you  in  some  other  way — some  more  important 
way?" 

She  smiled  sadly  and  shook  her  head. 

"That  is  very  noble  of  you,"  she  said;  "but  I 
think  there  is  nothing — nothing  at  least  that 
might  not  be  dangerous,  which  I  should  have  no 
right  to  ask  of  you." 

"But  tell  me  what  it  is,"  protested  Reginald 
vehemently,  "and  I  will  do  it.  Surely  my  knowl- 
edge of  this  country  may  be  of  use  to  strangers 
like  you  and  your  brother?" 

288 


GREEN    GINGER 


"I  have  been  In  England  before,"  she  said; 
"though,  of  course,  you  must  understand  your 
own  country  better  than  I.  And  perhaps — when 
I  have  told  my  brother  of  your  kindness — per- 
haps he  may  know  of  some  way  in  which  you 
might  help  us,  if  you  will  let  me  remind  you  of 
your  offer." 

"If  you  will  only  promise  that,  whatever  it  Is 
you  ask  me,  you  will  make  me  happy,"  declaimed 
Reginald,  with  enthusiasm.  "Will  you  promise 
it?" 

"Sefior,"  she  began,  looking  up  at  his  face — 
"but  you  have  not  yet  told  me  your  name." 

Reginald  repeated  it,  with  an  odd  feeling  that 
It  had  become  a  duller  and  less  Imposing  name 
since  he  had  last  seen  it,  painted  on  his  oak, 
only  a  few  minutes  ago. 

"Mr.  Reginald  Drinkwater,"  she  said — and 
at  once  the  name  became  beautiful  on  her  lips — 
"I  will  promise."  She  extended  her  hand.  "I 
am  Lucia  da  Silva." 

The  light  in  the  courtyard  was  grown  dull  and 
dusk  in  the  short  February  afternoon.  "Perhaps 
it  will  be  safe  to  go  now,"  she  said,  rising  and 
bending  to  peer  once  more  from  the  window. 
"If,"  she  added,  "if  you  will  do  one  little  thing 
for  me.  Will  you  go  first  and  see  if  they  are 
watching?  There  are  two  men,  one  rather  tall, 
though  not  very,  and  one  small  and  short;  both 
dark  men.    They  must  not  see  me  go." 

289 


GREEN    GINGER 


Reginald  repeated  that  he  was  ready  to  do 
anything,  but  suggested,  in  the  meantime,  tea 
from  his  gas-stove.  His  visitor,  however, 
begged,  with  a  very  pretty  anxiety,  to  be  excused. 
She  must  lose  no  more  time,  she  said,  for  already 
her  brother  would  be  alarmed  at  her  long 
absence.  And  so  Reginald  left  her  and  descended 
the  staircase  to  scout  from  the  front  door. 

As  he  went  he  was  aware  of  somebody  hurry- 
ing down  before  him  on  the  lower  flights;  and 
when  he  emerged  from  the  door  he  saw  a  man 
walking  sharply  away  near  the  corner  of  the 
court.  The  man  was  alone,  however,  and 
though  certainly  not  short,  nor  small,  but  stoutly 
built,  was  scarcely  of  a  stature  that  anybody 
would  call  tall,  being  of  about  middle  height. 
Reginald  followed  to  the  corner,  and  there 
watched  while  the  stranger  disappeared  round 
the  next,  and  his  footsteps  died  away  toward 
Middle  Temple  Lane.  This  would  seem  to  have 
been  merely  a  visitor  leaving  some  of  the  lower 
rooms,  and  whoever  he  was,  he  was  gone;  so 
Reginald  returned,  looking  out  sharply  as  he 
walked.  Nowhere  was  there  a  pair  of  lurking 
men — nowhere,  indeed,  a  pair  of  men  at  all.  A 
clerk  or  two  hurrying  home  early,  a  tradesman's 
boy  with  a  basket  and  a  tuneless  whistle,  an  old 
messenger  with  his  badge,  and  nobody  else; 
nobody  hiding  in  doorways,  nobody  lounging. 
Clearly  the  chase  must  have  been  abandoned. 

290 


GREEN    GINGER 


So  he  returned  with  his  report,  and  found 
the  beautiful  fugitive  awaiting  him  in  the 
doorway.  Could  she  go?  Was  the  way  quite 
clear? 

Reginald  Drinkwater  took  coat,  gloves  and 
stick,  and  the  two  went  out  together.  From  her 
description  it  seemed  clear  that  she  had  entered 
the  Temple  by  the  Middle  Temple  Lane  gate; 
so  now  Reginald  made  it  a  point  of  strategy  to 
leave  by  way  of  Whitefriars,  where  he  knew  a 
cab  could  be  found  in  a  quiet  street. 

The  cab  was  found,  and  then  Reginald  met  a 
certain  disappointment.  For  Lucia  would  not 
permit  him  to  accompany  her  for  even  part  of 
the  way. 

"You  are  most  kind,  but  it  is  better — much 
better — that  I  go  alone,"  was  all  she  would  say; 
but  there  was  that  in  her  manner  which  made 
it  final. 

Reginald  accepted  his  defeat.  "Where  shall 
I  tell  the  man  to  drive?"  he  asked. 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  with  an  odd  look 
of  doubt,  which  Reginald  found  himself  resent- 
ing. Then  she  said:  "Perhaps  I  shall  not  drive 
all  the  way;  it  may  be  better  not.  Tell  him  to 
go  first  to  Farringdon  Road." 

"And  you  will  not  forget  your  promise?" 

"To  ask  you  for  help?  No — I  shall  not 
forget  it.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  quite  soon — 
when  I  have  talked  with  my  brother." 

29  li 


GREEN    GINGER 


With  that  the  cab  was  gone,  and  Reginald 
Drinkwater  tried  hard  to  realize,  as  he  went 
home  across  King's  Bench  Walk  in  the  dark,  the 
visible  fact  that  here  indeed  was  romance  and 
adventure  after  all,  in  workaday  London,  and 
himself  in  the  midst  of  it. 


II 


On  the  next  morning  after  the  visit  of  the 
wonderful  Portuguese,  Reginald,  his  breakfast 
finished,  took  his  daily  morning  stroll  in  Fleet 
Street.  He  did  this  partly  out  of  respect  for 
Fleet  Street,  and  a  feeling  that  he  was  in  some 
vague  way  growing  literary  in  its  precincts,  but 
chiefly  because  for  an  hour  after  breakfast  Mrs. 
Churcher,  the  laundress,  made  his  rooms  un- 
endurable with  pails  and  brooms,  and  a  constant 
perambulation  of  her  unclean  self,  which  was  in 
theory  presumed  to  result  in  an  accession  of 
cleanliness  to  the  premises.  He  returned  per- 
haps a  trifle  later  than  usual,  but  found  Mrs. 
Churcher  still  in  possession — waiting  for  him, 
In  fact,  at  the  door. 

"There's  bin  a  young  lady  'ere  for  to  see  you, 
sir,"  she  announced,  in  that  voice  of  greasy 
huskiness  by  which  the  Temple  laundress  is  dis- 
tinguished from  the  rest  of  her  sex.  "A  foring 
young  lady  as  give  the  name  of  Silver,  or  de 

292 


GREEN    GINGER 


Silver.  She  wouldn't  wait,  but  she  said  p'r'aps 
she'd  call  agin,  sir." 

*'Did  she  say  anything  else?" 

"No,  sir;  she  didn't  leave  no  other  message," 

Reginald  was  angry  with  himself  for  his  de- 
lay in  Fleet  Street,  and  questioned  further.  The 
young  lady  had  been  gone,  now,  some  twenty 
minutes  or  half  an  hour.  No,  she  hadn't  said 
anything  in  particular,  beyond  asking  for  him, 
and  bringing  in  with  her  Mrs.  Churcher's 
bunch  of  keys,  which  she  had  supposed  to  be 
Mr.  Drinkwater's,  left  in  the  outer  door  by 
accident. 

Reginald  had  his  lunch  sent  in,  and  kept 
within  doors  for  the  rest  of  the  day;  but  he  saw 
nothing  of  Lucia  da  Silva.  After  breakfast  next 
morning  he  perceived,  with  uncommon  serenity, 
that  the  weather  was  damp  and  foggy,  and  af- 
forded some  sort  of  excuse  for  hanging  about 
in  his  rooms,  or  at  farthest  on  the  stairs  and 
lobby,  while  Mrs.  Churcher  performed  her 
daily  rites.  But  he  waited  and  watched  in  vain 
till  Mrs.  Churcher  had  been  gone  out  an  hour, 
and  more. 

Then  at  last  there  was  a  timid  tap  at  his  door, 
which  he  opened  instantly,  to  see  Lucia  before 
him. 

"I  have  come,"  she  said,  "only  because  I 
have  made  you  a  promise.  Do  you  remember 
the  promise?" 

293 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Indeed  I  do — that  you  would  tell  me  if  I 
could  be  in  any  way  of  service  to  you  and  your 
brother.     Tell  me,  now,  what  I  can  do." 

"I   think,   perhaps,   you   might  not   like   It." 

"If  it  will  serve  you — and  your  brother — I 
shall  delight  in  it.  I  will  do  anything.  What 
is  it?" 

"They  have  discovered  our  lodgings — the 
men." 

"The  men  who  were  watching  you?" 

"Yes.  How  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  they 
followed  the  cab — perhaps  some  other  way; 
who  can  tell?  They  have  found  us  out  again, 
and  we  must  go ;  but  they  are  watching  us,  and 
it  is  difficult." 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

"That  is  for  my  brother  to  settle;  but  I  think 
he  has  plans,  if — if  we  have  a  friend — a  de- 
voted, noble  friend  who  will  help  us.  Will  you 
be  the  noble  friend?" 

"Of  course — I  have  promised.  I  will  do  any- 
thing.    What  is  the  plan?" 

"I  will  say  what  my  brother  thinks.  We 
have  been  going  out,  my  brother  and  I,  every 
evening,  in  a  cab,  to  dinner  at  a  restaurant. 
Will  you  come  with  me  to-night,  instead  of  my 
brother?" 

Could  there  be  a  pleasanter  deed  of  heroism? 
Reginald  heard  the  proposal  with  perhaps  as 
much  relief  as  surprise,  for  this  was  an  act  of 

294 


GREEN    GINGER 


devotion  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  perform 
every  day  of  his  life.  "It  will  give  me  the 
greatest  pleasure,"  he  said.  "Where  shall  I 
come  for  you?" 

"This  is  where  we  are  staying,"  she  replied, 
and  handed  him  a  card.  It  was  that  of  a 
house — obviously  a  boarding-house — in  a  quiet 
square  near  the  New  River  Head;  a  place 
that  Reginald  remembered  to  have  seen  in  his 
wanderings  in  London,  and  to  have  noticed 
because  of  its  contrast  of  character  with  the 
neighboring  streets. 

"You  must  not  come  to  the  front  door,"  she 
resumed, "as  you  will  understand  when  I  explain. 
There  is  a  path  behind  the  houses,  with  stables. 
Each  house  has  a  door  in  the  garden  wall,  and 
you  must  come  to  the  fourth,  where  I  shall  be 
waiting  before  six  o'clock;  let  us  say  half-past 
five." 

"That  will  be  early  for  dinner,  won't  it?" 

"Oh,  we  need  not  go  to  dinner  at  once.  Often 
my  brother  and  I  go  out  early.  The  house  on 
the  north  side  of  the  square,  remember.  Will 
you  come?  I  must  not  wait  here — my  brother 
is  expecting  me.    You  will  come  ?" 

Nothing  should  stop  him,  Reginald  resolved, 
that  left  him  with  legs  to  stand  on;  and  he  said 
so,  in  more  elegant  terms.  And  even  as  he  was 
gathering  his  wits  to  frame  certain  inquiries  that 
should  not  seem  to  pry,  she  was  gone,  with  a 

295 


GREEN    GINGER 


press  of  the  hand  and  a  glance  from  her  black 
eyes  that  kept  him  vastly  elated  for  ten  minutes; 
at  the  end  of  which  period  it  dawned  on  him,  as 
it  might  have  done  before,  that  it  must  be  in- 
tended that  he  should  assume  the  character  of 
Lucia's  brother  for  the  evening,  together  with 
the  liabilities  of  that  relationship,  including  any 
casual  bullet  that  his  enemies  might  consider  a 
suitable  token  of  their  sentiments.  With  that 
his  elation  sensibly  diminished,  and  it  occurred 
to  him  that  it  was  much  pleasanter  to  listen  to 
Lucia's  praises  of  his  magnanimity  than  to  do 
anything  to  deserve  them. 

Still,  it  was  an  adventure,  and  he  was  in  for 
it  beyond  withdrawal;  morever,  the  danger 
somehow  did  not  affect  him  as  very  immediate. 
The  design  appeared  fairly  clear.  He  was  to 
enter  the  house  from  the  back  unobserved,  and 
to  leave  it  from  the  front,  so  as  to  draw  off 
the  attention  of  the  watchers.  Then,  while  the 
house  was  free  from  their  observation,  Luiz  da 
Silva  would  make  his  escape  and  find  some  other 
retreat.  "You  must  not  come  to  the  front 
door,"  Lucia  had  said,  "as  you  will  understand 
when  I  explain."  But  she  had  explained  nothing 
as  yet,  and  no  doubt  meant  to  reserve  explana- 
tions till  his  arrival;  though  the  plan  seemed 
clear  enough. 

On  the  whole  he  decided  that  he  must  dress 
for  dinner.     He  could  not  tell  whether  or  not 

296 


GREEN    GINGER 


Luiz  da  Silva  had  brought  a  dress-suit  with  him, 
that  being  one  of  the  things  he  had  meant  to 
ask;  but  it  could  make  little  difference,  either 
way.     So  dress  he  did. 

The  fog  thickened  during  the  day,  and  it  was 
dark  some  time  before  the  hour  fixed.  Reginald 
left  his  cab  a  street  or  two  away,  and  walked 
the  remaining  distance.  The  square  was  not 
difficult  to  find,  nor  the  pathway  behind  the 
garden  wall;  and  as  he  reached  the  fourth  of 
the  doors  it  opened  while  his  hand  was  raised 
to  tap,  and  he  could  see  Lucia's  dim  figure 
within. 

"Hush!'  she  said,  "do  not  speak  now.  It 
is  most  noble  of  you." 

She  took  his  arm,  led  him  in  and  quietly  closed 
and  fastened  the  door.  The  garden  was  a  small 
enough  space,  but  they  traversed  it  slowly  as 
well  as  noiselessly;  and  Reginald  began  to  feel 
that  this  was  something  more  like  an  adventure 
than  any  previous  experience  of  his  life.  They 
climbed  a  short  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  entered 
the  house  by  a  door  which  stood  ajar;  and  then 
she  spoke  again. 

"There  is  a  cab  waiting,"  she  said.  "Will 
you  turn  up  your  coat-collar?  If  you  will  do 
that,  and  pull  your  hat  a  little  forward,  you 
will  look  much  like  my  brother." 

He  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  they  emerged  into 
the  dim  light  of  the  hall,  with  Its  feeble  gas-jet. 

297 


GREEN    GINGER 


He  could  now  see  that  Lucia  was  already  pre- 
pared, with  hat  and  cloak.  She  opened  the  front 
door. 

"I  think  they  are  at  the  corner  of  the  square, 
to  the  left,"  she  whispered.  "Do  not  look  in 
that  direction,  but  come  straight  into  the  cab. 
We  go  to  the  Cafe  Royal." 

The  door  shut  softly  behind  them,  and 
Reginald,  his  eyes  fixed  rigidly  on  the  cab, 
valiantly  resisted  a  desperate  impulse  to  plunge 
into  it  headlong,  and  descended  the  steps  with 
nervous  deliberation.  Truly  this  was  an  adven- 
ture at  last. 

He  experienced  a  feeling  of  much  relief  when 
they  were  safely  seated  in  the  cab  and  bowling 
through  the  streets  toward  Bloomsbury;  but  he 
got  little  conversation  from  his  companion,  who 
seemed  nervous  and  thoughtful.  He  ventured 
to  doubt  the  possibility  that  they  were  being 
followed;  but  she  assured  him  that  she  and  her 
brother  had  been  followed  on  just  such  an 
occasion  on  the  previous  evening,  a  little  later, 
and  surmised  that  the  enemy  must  keep  a  cab 
within  call.  And  to  a  suggestion  that  an  arrival 
at  the  Cafe  Royal  at  six  o'clock  would  be  a 
little  awkward  she  replied  that  there  was  a  very 
particular  reason  for  it,  which  her  brother  would 
explain  in  detail  when  he  had  the  happiness  of 
personally  meeting  Mr.  Drinkwater,  to  whom 
he  would  be  eternally  grateful. 

298 


GREEN    GINGER 


Through  Hart  Street  they  turned  into  New 
Oxford  Street,  and  so  down  Shaftesbury  Avenue. 
As  they  neared  PIcadilly  Circus  she  spoke  again. 
"If  you  will  pay  the  man  through  the  roof- 
door,"  she  said,  "we  shall  not  have  to  stand  long 
when  we  alight." 

Reginald  admired  the  mental  alertness  that 
could  suggest  this  expedient  to  a  foreigner  in 
London,  and  complied  with  the  suggestion;  so 
that  when  the  cab  pulled  up  before  the  Cafe 
Royal  they  lost  no  time  in  reaching  the  swing- 
doors.  Reginald  saw,  with  some  apprehension, 
that  another  cab  stopped  a  little  way  behind 
them  though  after  all  with  so  many  other  cabs 
about  it  might  not  be  worth  considering. 

The  doors  swung  behind  them,  and  Reginald 
felt  a  further  accession  of  confidence.  What 
an  adventure ! 

But  here  he  encountered  surprise  and  disap- 
pointment. For  Lucia  turned  to  him  and  said 
hurriedly:  "Oh,  Mr,  Drinkwater,  I  can  never 
repay  you !  How  brave  you  are !  I  have  been 
in  terrible  fear  for  you  all  the  way.  Perhaps 
I  ought  not  to  have  brought  you,  but  there  was 
no  other  friend  for  my  dear  brother — the 
brother  I  love  so  well !  Will  you  promise  to 
stay  here,  and  not  show  yourself  outside  till  after 
dinner?     Till  nine  o'clock?" 

"Certainly — we  must  wait  before  dinner — we 
^we " 


299 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Thank  you,  oh,  thank  you!"  she  inter- 
rupted, seizing  his  hand.  "I  must  leave  you 
now — I  must  go  at  once  to  my  brother.  There 
is  a  side  door  here,  I  know,  into  a  little  dark 
street;  I  shall  not  be  seen.  I  will  see  you,  or 
write  to  you,  very  soon.  Good-bye,  my  noble 
friend!" 

And  with  that  she  was  gone,  leaving  Reginald 
dumb  and  blinking.  So  he  stood  till  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  attracting  notice;  which-t in- 
deed he  was.  Whereupon  he  stalked  gloomily 
across  the  room  and  flung  hmiself  into  a  seat; 
and  being  impelled  to  do  something  desperate, 
he  ordered  absinthe,  which  he  did  not  like,  but 
which  was  the  most  desperate  form  of  refresh- 
ment he  could  think  of. 

He  sat  alone  and  glowered  and  smoked  ciga- 
rettes for  an  hour  and  a  half;  a  period  of  time 
which  sufficed  to  relieve  his  disappointment,  and 
arouse  his  Interest  In  the  very  excellent  dinner 
which  was  to  follow.  And  the  excellent  dinner 
reconciled  him  to  his  circumstances  so  far  that 
he  began  to  congratulate  himself  on  having  very 
cleverly  foiled  a  very  desperate  gang  of  con- 
spirators. He  fell  to  wondering  when  and  how 
he  should  next  hear  of  Lucia  da  Silva;  and  so, 
a  little  past  nine  o'clock,  he  made  his  way  home 
on  foot,  rather  better  satisfied  with  himself,  on 
the  whole,  that  he  had  felt  after  any  other 
dinner  he  could  remember.     For  he  had  an  idea 


300 


GREEN    GINGER 


that  he  had  acquitted  himself  very  well;  and, 
indeed,  it  was  a  very  jewel  of  an  adventure. 

Once  more  next  morning  he  endured  the 
society  of  Mrs.  Churcher  after  breakfast — the 
fog  was  even  heavier,  to-day — but  there  was  no 
caller.  None,  indeed,  till  the  afternoon,  and 
then  it  was  a  messenger-boy,  with  a  letter;  a 
letter  written  on  scented  paper  in  violet  ink,  but 
scribbled  so  hurriedly  that  it  was  often  difficult 
to  separate  words  and  sentences.  This  done, 
however,  it  read  thus : 

My  dear  Friend, — My  brother  and  I  cannot 
thank  you  enough  for  your  generous  kindness 
last  night,  which,  alas,  did  not  avail  so  effectually  . 
as  we  had  hoped.  The  watching  enemy  were,  as 
you  know,  two,  and  it  would  seem  that  only 
one  followed  us,  leaving  the  other,  the  small, 
short  man,  to  watch  and  confront  my  brother. 
This  led  to  something  which  has  altered  our 
plans  and  makes  us  ask  you  for  one  favor 
more.  Will  you  do  it?  Do  not  refuse  after 
such  kindness  as  you  have  shown.  Will  you 
go  with  a  cab  this  evening  at  about  six  to  the 
house  we  have  left  and  bring  away  a  large  box? 
Enclosed  Is  a  note  for  the  landlady,  who  will 
give  you  the  box,  and  will  hand  you  a  hasty  note 
of  instructions  I  have  left.  Do  not  stay  to  read 
that  note  till  you  are  in  the  cab  and  safely  away 
with  the  box,  and  do  not  let  the  cab  stand  at 

301 


GREEN    GINGER 


the  house  longer  than  you  can  help.  Also  do 
not  mention  our  real  name  to  the  landlady — you 
will  understand  that  we  have  been  obliged  to 
conceal  it.  This  time  you  will  go  to  the  front 
door,  of  course.  Send  me  a  note  by  this  messen- 
ger saying  that  you  will  do  this  without  fail. 
Ever  yours  gratefully  and  hopefully, 

Lucia 

Here  was  more  food  for  Reginald's  romantic 
appetite,  which  was  by  no  means  sated  yet,  but 
rather  sharpened  by  experience.  He  longed  to 
learn  what  had  happened  as  the  result  of  the 
encounter  of  Luiz  and  his  enemy,  and  how  the 
plot  stood  now.  So  he  sent  by  the  messenger 
a  hurried  note  that  he  would  certainly  and  gladly 
do  all  that  was  asked  of  him,  and  addressed 
himself  to  preparations.    Such  an  adventure! 


Ill 

It  was  within  a  very  few  minutes  of  six  that 
Reginald's  cab — this  time  a  four-wheeler,  be- 
cause the  box  might  be  large — brought  him  once 
more  to  the  house  in  Pentonville.  There  was 
some  little  difficulty  in  finding  it,  for  the  fog  had 
been  thickening  all  day.  This  he  judged  an 
advantage  as  regarded  the  removal  of  the  box — 
a  thing  no  doubt  that  would  be  better  done 
unobserved. 

302 


GREEN    GINGER 


His  knock  brought  to  the  door  a  very  com- 
mon-place general  servant,  who  took  the  note, 
and  presently  returned  with  another,  addressed 
in  Lucia's  handwriting,  to  himself.  Then  she 
led  him  Into  a  side  room  and  shortly  indicated 
the  box  by  a  jerk  of  the  hand  and  a  suggestion 
that  he  would  find  It  "pretty  heavy." 

It  was  a  larger  box  than  he  had  expected,  long 
and  unwieldy,  and  more  than  he  could  carry  by 
himself.  So  he  called  the  cabman,  and  they 
found  it  no  very  easy  carrying,  together;  the 
cabman,  in  fact,  growling  furiously. 

The  box  safely  mounted  on  the  roof,  Reginald 
lost  no  time  In  entering  the  cab,  giving  the 
cabman  the  first  direction  for  Farrlngdon  Road, 
that  being  the  nearest  main  road  he  could  think 
of  at  the  moment.  After  an  excruciating  delay — 
the  cabman  was  exasperatingly  deliberate  with 
his  rug — they  moved  off,  and  Reginald  pulled 
out  his  note  of  instructions.  It  was  even  more 
hurriedly  scribbled,  he  noticed,  than  the  letter 
he  had  received  by  the  messenger-boy  a  few 
hours  before,  the  words  running  on  with  scarcely 
a  lift  of  the  pen,  and  no  punctuation  at  all.  The 
streets  were  dark  as  well  as  foggy,  and  he  could 
only  catch  a  glimpse  on  the  paper  now  and  again 
as  they  passed  a  shop  or  an  uncommonly  bright 
street-lamp,  and  one  or  two  of  the  more  legible 
words  started  out  and  vanished  again.  "Water- 
loo Station"  was  clear,  near  the  bottom,   and 


303 


GREEN    GINGER 


higher  up  "trouble,"  "difficulty,"  and  "re- 
mains." At  this  last  word  Reginald  sat  up  with 
an  awful  shock.  Remains?  What  was  in  that 
heavy  box  on  the  roof? 

At  this  moment  the  cab  emerged  into  a  street 
so  full  of  lighted  shops  that  the  whole  note 
became  plain;  separating  words  and  sentences 
with  some  difficulty,  this  is  what  he  read: 

"Sorry  to  trouble,  but  difficulty  with  small 
man  caused.  Troublesome  thing.  We  must 
remove  remains  In  box.  Trust  you  implicitly. 
Bring  to  York  Road  gate  of  Waterloo  Station 
6.30." 

What  words  can  paint  the  consternation  of 
Reginald  Drinkwater  as  he  read  this  note? 
"We  must  remove  remains  in  box !"  This,  then, 
was  the  event  that  had  altered  their  plans  and 
caused  them  "to  ask  one  favor  more."  The 
encounter  in  the  fog  between  Luiz  da  Silva  and 
his  enemy  had  ended  in  the  death  of  the  small 
man,  and  here  was  he,  Reginald  Drinkwater, 
carrying  the  corpse   across   London   in   a   cab ! 

The  callousness  of  the  note,  too!  The  "diffi- 
culty" with  the  small  man  had  caused  the  trou- 
ble, and  it — or  he — was  merely  a  "troublesome 
thing!"  A  truly  Southern  contempt  of  human 
life! 

As  he  sat,  amazed  and  confounded,  the  cab 

304. 


GREEN    GINGER 


pulled  up  in  Farringdon  Road,  and  the  driver, 
with  growls  from  the  box,  invited  further  in- 
structions. 

The  interruption  recalled  Reginald  to  action. 
"The  York  Road  gate  of  Waterloo  Station,"  he 
said,  "as  quick  as  you  can  get  there!" 

For,  indeed,  this  was  all  he  could  do.  They 
trusted  him;  he  had  accepted  the  trust  and  had 
given  his  word,  though  he  had  never  guessed 
what  it  involved.  And  after  all,  he  reflected, 
this  was  a  different  thing,  far  from  murder; 
nothing  but  simple  self-defence.  Though  that 
consideration  somehow  made  very  little  differ- 
ence to  the  horror  of  the  long  box  on  the  roof 
and  what  it  held. 

The  cab  crawled  and  thumped  and  clattered 
through  the  fog,  and  Reginald  prayed  for  the 
fog  to  thicken  and  so  hide  the  ghastly  box  from 
human  sight.  And  thicken  it  did,  so  that  after 
a  martyrdom  of  stopping  and  starting  and  crawl- 
ing through  Farringdon  Road  and  Street,  the 
vehicle  emerged  from  Ludgate  Circus  to  en- 
counter an  increasing  blackness  in  New  Bridge 
Street.  On  it  crept,  close  by  the  curb,  and 
presently  was  lost  in  an  immensity  of  mist, 
wherein  nothing  could  be  seen  but  nebulous 
light  in  distant  random  spots.  They  were 
making  across  the  end  of  Queen  Victoria  Street 
for  Blackfriars  Bridge. 

The  voyage  across  this  smoky  ocean  seemed  to 

305. 


GREEN    GINGER 


be  the  longest  stretch  of  the  interminaible 
journey.  Once  or  twice  the  lights  of  some  other 
vehicle  neared  and  faded  again,  and  shouts  came 
from  invisible  depths;  but  the  traffic  hereabout 
was  sparse  just  now.  Reginald  had  begun  to 
consider  the  possibility  that  the  cab  was  making 
circles  among  the  multitudinous  crossings  of 
these  regions,  when  suddenly  the  horse  stumbled 
and  fell  in  a  heap. 

The  cabman  made  one  roll  of  it  out  of  his  rug 
and  off  the  box,  and  was  dimly  visible  hauling  at 
his  horse's  head  and  clearly  audible  cursing  its 
entire  body.  The  horse,  for  its  own  part,  seemed 
disposed  to  approve  of  the  situation,  and  will- 
ingly to  accept  the  opportunity  for  a  prolonged 
rest.  Blows  and  shouts,  it  would  seem  to  reflect, 
were  much  the  same,  lying  or  standing,  and  lying 
was  the  easier  posture. 

Reginald's  terrors  increased  tenfold;  there 
would  be  a  crowd,  and  a  policeman,  and  the  long 
box  would  ibe  hauled  down  under  general  obser- 
vation; and  in  his  disordered  memory  the  thing 
seemed  now  to  have  looked  so  like  a  stumpy 
coffin  that  he  wondered  he  had  not  suspected  it 
at  once.  He  must,  at  any  rate,  keep  it  from  the 
eye  of  a  policeman. 

He  scrambled  out,  and  addressed  the  cabman. 
"If  your  horse  is  long  getting  up,"  he  said,  "I'll 
have  another  cab.     I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  cabman,  extending  his 

306 


GREEN    GINGER 


palm.  "I've  'ad  enough  of  It,  If  you  'ave.  'E 
ain't  a  easy  one  to  get  up,  once  'e's  down,  an'  I 
b'lieve  'Is  knees  is  cut.     Gimme  my  fare." 

Reginald  hastily  produced  half  a  crown,  and 
stood  as  firmly  as  he  could  while  the  man 
shoved  the  horrible  box  into  his  arms,  and  then 
slung  his  end  on  the  neighboring  curb.  Having 
done  which  the  cabman  turned  his  attention  once 
more  to  his  horse,  leaving  his  late  fare  to  wrestle 
his  luggage  across  the  pavement;  for  Reginald's 
immediate  purpose  was  to  elude  the  eye  of  the 
policeman  who  must  inevitably  arrive  to  Inspect 
the  recumbent  horse. 

Plainly  the  cab  had  strayed  in  the  wide  space 
before  Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  wandered  diago- 
nally across  the  approach;  for  now  Reginald 
perceived  that  he  had  landed  on  the  footpath  of 
the  Victoria  Embankment.  He  pushed  the  box, 
end  over  end,  into  the  darkest  available  spot 
under  the  parapet,  and  peered  out  into  the 
choking  fog  in  search  of  another  cab. 

But  very  soon  he  began  to  understand  that  he 
was  attempting  something  near  an  impossibility. 
A  passing  light  in  the  wide,  dark  road  was  the 
most  that  could  be  seen  of  any  cab,  and  each 
dash  from  the  curb  which  he  made  only  revealed 
that  the  cab  was  engaged.  He  began  to  grow 
seriously  alarmed.  He  could  not  carry  the 
thing — indeed  he  began  to  experience  a  growing 
repugnance  to  touch  It  or  go  near  it — and  there 

307. 


GREEN    GINGER 


seemed  to  be  positively  no  means  of  getting  it 
to  Waterloo.  Moreover,  the  time  appointed 
was  already  long  overpast,  and  it  was  near  seven. 

As  he  stood  so,  distractedly  staring  at  the 
lights  in  the  fog,  a  slow  footstep  approached, 
and  a  tall  policeman  came  suddenly  upon  him 
out  of  the  gloom,  looking  into  his  face  as  he 
passed — looking,  as  it  seemed  to  Reginald's 
uneasy  perceptions,  with  an  eye  of  inquiry  and 
deep  suspicion.  Fortunately,  the  man  saw 
nothing  of  the  box  lying  close  under  the  parapet, 
and  vanished  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared, 
leaving  Reginald  in  an  agony  of  fear.  What  if 
the  policeman  had  seen  the  box,  and  had  asked 
questions?  How  account  for  his  possession  of 
the  corpse  of  an  unknown  foreigner?  Plainly 
something  must  be  done,  and  at  once. 

His  first  impulse,  as  soon  as  the  policeman  was 
gone,  was  to  take  to  his  heels,  simply.  But  then 
he  remembered  the  river,  so  close  to  hand.  The 
plain  object  of  Lucia  and  her  brother  must  be  to 
dispose  of  the  body,  somehow;  and  possibly  by 
this  time  they  had  fled,  alarmed  at  his  non- 
arrival.  In  any  case  there  was  no  visible  means 
of  bringing  them  the  box,  and  he  must  act  on  his 
own  account,  before  that  policeman  returned  on 
his  beat.  He  took  one  stealthy  glance  about  him, 
raised  an  end  of  the  box  against  the  parapet, 
and  with  a  great  effort  lifted  the  other  end  and 
pushed  the  thing  forward  till  it  balanced  on  the 

308 


GREEN    GINGER 


coping.  Then  with  a  final  desperate  shove  he 
sent  it  tumbling  into  the  black  abyss  before  him, 
and  ran  his  hardest. 

He  soon  found  it  needful  to  check  his  pace, 
however,  and  narrowly  averted  a  collision  with 
a  tree  as  it  was.  He  found  that  he  had  taken 
the  direction  along  the  Embankment,  away  from 
Blackfriars.  That  being  so  he  must  go  over 
Waterloo  Bridge  to  inform  Lucia  of  the  fate  of 
the  box,  if  she  were  still  there.  As  he  went  he 
grew  calmer,  and  presently  saw,  by  aid  of  a 
lamp,  that  it  was  five  minutes  past  seven.  He 
crossed  the  road  warily  at  the  best-lighted  place 
he  could  find,  and  made  his  best  pace  to  keep  his 
appointment. 

That  dreary  tramp  seemed  a  week  of  groping 
hours,  and  he  found  himself  doubting  his  watch 
when  it  indicated,  in  the  light  of  the  public-house 
at  the  corner  of  York  Road,  that  he  was  little 
more  than  an  hour  late.  He  hastened  on,  and 
was  barely  emerging  from  the  blackness  beneath 
the  railway-bridge  when  his  arm  was  seized 
above  the  elbow,  and  Lucia  stood  before  him. 

"Where  is  it?    The  box?"  she  demanded. 

"It's  all  right — I've — I've  got  rid  of  it;  I — " 

"Got  rid  of  it?  What  d'you  mean?  "  Sur- 
prise, alarm,  and  sharp  suspicion  were  harsh  in 
her  voice. 

"Pitched  it  into  the  river.  That  was  all  I 
could  do,  you  see,  with " 


309 


GREEN    GINGER 


"Pitched  it  into  the  river?"  Her  voice  rose 
to  a  sort  of  hushed  scream. 

"Yes.  The  cab  broke  down,  and  I  had  to  get 
rid  of  the  corpse  somehow,  and  so — and  so — " 

"Corpse?    What  corpse?" 

"In  the  box — ^the  short  man;  the  remains. 
It  had  to  be  got  rid " 

She  snatched  at  his  arm  again  and  shook  it. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  hissed  in  his  face, 
"that  you've  thrown  that  box  into  the  river?" 

"Yes,  certainly!" 

What  followed  Reginald  will  always  find  it 
difficult  to  describe,  even  if  he  should  evef  wish 
to  remember  it,  which  is  doubtful.  He  was 
aware  of  a  sudden  torrent  of  a  language  which 
he  was  sure  was  not  Portuguese,  since  he  had 
heard  it  frequently  at  the  Islington  Cattle  Mar- 
ket. Then  something  hard  of  Lucia's — he 
could  scarcely  believe  it  was  her  fist — ^took  him 
suddenly  on  the  left  ear,  and  the  lady  herself, 
her  skirts  snatched  up  in  her  hands,  vanished  into 
the  fog  at  a  bolt,  leaving  him  dumb  and  gasping, 
as  well  as  a  little  deaf — on  the  left  side. 


IV 


That  evening  in  his  rooms,  amazed  'and  be- 
wildered,    Reginald    Drinkwater    pulled    once 
again  from  his  pocket  the  note  of  instructions  he 
310 


GREEN    GINGER 


had  received  at  Pentonville.  The  thing  was 
most  hastily  scribbled,  as  though  it  were  all  one 
sentence;  most  of  the  words  ran  on  without  a 
break,  till  they  reached  the  end  of  the  line,  and 
yet  the  meaning  seemed  quite  clear.  The  punc- 
tuation he  had  supplied  himself,  and  now  he 
could  see  no  better  arrangement.  "We  must  re- 
move remains  in  box."  That  was  plain  enough; 
certainly  plain  enough.  And  then,  suddenly,  as 
by  a  flash  of  inspiration,  he  saw  the  thing  in  quite 
a  different  reading.  The  word  "caused"  ended 
the  first  line,  and  "troublesome  thing"  began  the 
second.  But  hereabout  the  words  were  all 
joined,  and  if  only  the  "some"  were  tacked  on 
to  "thing"  instead  of  "trouble" — and  there  was 
no  reason  why  it  should  not  be — the  whole 
meaning  was  changed.  "Difficulty  with  small 
man  caused  trouble,"  it  would  read,  and 
then,  "something  we  must  remove  remains 
in  box."  Something  we  must  remove  remains 
in  box ! 

Mouth  and  eyes  and  fingers  all  opened  to- 
gether, and  the  paper  fell  between  his  knees  as 
this  amazing  explanation  presented  itself.  Then 
there  was  no  body!  No  one  was  killed!  He 
had  only  been  sent  to  Pentonville  because  "some- 
thing we  must  remove  remains  in  box" !  Great 
heaven? !  what  had  he  flung  into  the  river? 

He  picked  the  paper  up  and  read  it  once  more, 
and  the  new  reading  stared  at  him  plainer  than 


311 


GREEN    GINGER 


ever.  What  had  he  done?  He  could  under- 
stand now,  dimly,  that  Lucia  probably  had 
reasons  for  her  amazement  and  anger.  But  then 
that  language — worse,  that  punch!  What  did 
it  all  mean? 

He  gasped  and  wondered  for  two  days,  and 
then  Buss,  K.C.,  returned  from  his  little  holiday. 
Reginald's  attention  was  attracted  to  his  neigh- 
bor by  a  sudden  howl  and  a  series  of  appalling 
bellows,  accompanied  by  frantic  rushings  to  and 
fro,  hangings  of  doors  and  shoutings  on  stairs. 
Then,  after  an  interval,  Reginald,  still  curious, 
perceived  the  head  of  an  inspector  of  police  at 
the  nearest  open  window  of  Buss,  K.C.  And 
after  another  interval  that  same  inspector  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  rooms  of  Mr.  Reginald 
Drinkwater.  Mr.  Buss's  rooms  had  been  entered 
and  robbed  during  his  absence  from  town,  and 
the  entry  had  been  effected,  in  the  judgment  of 
the  police,  through  the  window  in  the  corner,  by 
some  person  crossing  from  Mr.  Drinkwater's 
window.  Of  course  the  inspector  didn't  wish  to 
say  or  do  anything  unpleasant,  and  no  doubt 
investigations  would  put  things  in  a  different 
light;  but  for  the  present ! 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  Drinkwater 
romance  was  first  poured  into  the  unenthusiastic 
ears  of  the  police;  and  that  some  of  the  most 
valuable  of  the  Buss  silver  was  dragged  and 
dived  for  in  the  Thames  near  Blackfriars  under 

312 


GREEN   GINGER 


the  joint  direction  of  the  police  and  Mr.  Drink- 
water  himself. 

"Yes,"  observed  the  inspector,  some  days  after 
his  first  visit,  when  Mr.  Drinkwater's  bona  fides 
had  been  quite  established — "y^s,  sir,  it's  just 
their  sort  o'  job.  Lucia  da  Silva  she  called 
herself  this  time,  did  she?  It's  a  very  pretty 
name.  She's  had  a  lot  of  'em  at  one  time  or 
another,  but  I  never  heard  that  before.  She's 
been  Spanish  an'  she's  been  Italian  an'  she's  been 
Greek — this  Portuguese  dodge  is  fresh;  nothing 
like  being  up-to-date,  I  suppose.  Bit  of  a  sheeny, 
really,  I  believe.  Yes.  It's  she's  the  smart  one; 
he's  got  ideas,  but  he  funks  the  work.  You  see 
she  did  it  all  in  this  job.  Came  to  try  and  fit 
keys  to  your  door  when  you  were  out — that  was 
when  you  surprised  her.  Her  fright  was  real 
enough,  of  course,  when  you  turned  up,  but  she 
was  smart  enough  to  turn  it  to  her  own  account. 
You  see,  Mr.  Buss's  doors  would  be  a  harder  job 
than  yours — he's  had  patent  locks  put  on  'em, 
inside  and  out,  an'  no  doubt  they  knew  it. 

"Wonderful  quick  she  was  with  her  jarn, 
wasn't  she?  She's  a  topper.  Knew  how  to 
adapt  it,  too,  you  see.  It  was  when  she  got  you 
safe  off  in  the  Cafe  Royal  they  did  it.  Did  it 
together,  with  the  keys  they'd  made  from  the 
waxes  she  got  from  your  laundress's  bunch  when 
she  came  the  day  before,  and  you  were  out. 
These  women  shouldn't  leave  keys  about  like 

313 


GREEN    GINGER 


that,  though  they  always  do.  Yes,  she  did  It 
smart  all  through — I  always  admired  that  gal. 
Not  least  smart  was  getting  you  to  bring  the  stuff 
along  after  they'd  left  their  lodgings.  I  think  I 
know  why  that  was.  It  was  him  funking  it 
again — he's  always  a  funk,  fortunately,  in  these 
jobs.  Thought  we'd  got  an  eye  on  the  house, 
which  we  hadn't,  because  It's  quite  a  respectable 
place,  and  we'd  lost  sight  of  him  lately.  But  see 
the  neatness  of  it,  getting  you  to  carry  the  stuff. 
If  we  had  been  watching  the  house,  or  if  you'd' 
been  stopped  on  the  way,  you' d  have  been  in  the 
soup,  not  them.  Found  with  the  goods  on  you, 
you  see,  sir,  and  the  burglary  done  from  your 
rooms!  Eh?  Oh,  very  neat.  But  there — 
I've  got  one  joke  against  her,  when  I  find  her; 
that  note  that  queered  the  game.  That  is 
rich.  'Remains,'  eh?  'Remains  in  box!'  We 
must  explain  that  to  her,  when  we  get  her ! 
'Remains,' eh?    Ha  !  ha  !" 

"Ha!  ha!"  repeated  Reginald — a  sickly  echo. 
"Yes,  quite  a  joke — against  her!" 


3^^ 


I'j'.JJJjj'lJERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A  001  424  577  3 


1909  ':jj 


J 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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